Saturday, March 25, 2006

My circus train pulls through the night

Full of lions and trapeze artists
I'm done with elephants and clowns
I want to
Run away and join the office
-American Car, Mike Doughty

When it rains, it pours. Or hails and gusts and thunders, as the case may be. The outer tempest an angsty reflection of inner turmoil, frustration and pain.

Sometimes, however, you find yourself standing on a deserted downtown corner at 1:15 am in the driving rain of a warm spring storm; last train missed, busses nowhere, not a cab in sight. Too wet to bother trying to keep dry, watching the sheets of rain undulate and swirl down the street, then through the intersection, an odd tranquility, a quiet ease sort of slides up and settles around you. Though soaked - rain dripping off of your nose and chin, running down your back, filling your boots - it occurs to you not that everything will be ok, but that everything is really just fine.

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