The sounds of moisture

Besides the water that it brings,
and the ways that this wetness changes the environment
visually,
there are sounds
that are no less wonderful.

They are welcomed, too.

When the rain has stopped,
the quietness which follows
is accented, or rather, misted
as cars make contact with the recent water.

I am unaware of any paws,
or special type of human walk,
no matter the amount of footsteps
or intention
that can do this.

At this exact moment
I am trying to find a word, an onomatopoeia
that can accurately capture the sound that I hear in my head.
The difficulty I am having in doing so
is perhaps the very thing that I find most precious,
outside of human relationships.

On alignment

I can't recall when exactly it happened, 

but I learned,
at some time during the years that I have lived,
that words are very important, 

and should be chosen carefully

when used.
When possible.

Because "fuck", "fuck" and "fuck" can sound similar
but be intended so differently,
it is necessary to discern between "I am frustrated", "I am angry" and "I am exasperated".
After all, they don't really sound the same,
if you listen closely.

I imagine that an increase in information,
and probably more so,
greater precision,
are necessary
if one's wish is to align their speech more closely with the complexity
of themselves as an organism.

And while I doubt that this is true of language only,
I find there to be something remarkably satisfying
when
the hard work
necessary to achieve sparsity
produces something elegant.

Powerlessnessful

To be powerful,
or rather, to have some sense of possessing,
even a little,
is so alluring.
Unfortunately, for me,
it's an utter disappointment.

It feels so close and real at times,
but ends up lost;
first on others,
then myself.

The fantasy
that physical strength equals real power,
never fools me,
but still I am taken in by the myth of it.

That I could possess authority by other means,
through control,
or judgment,
I find harder to demystify.
Rich in it's complexity and expression,
it remains equally unsatisfying.

Yesterdays and tomorrows

I recall painfully, my mother looking at me,
saying, "what are you so angry about"?
It wasn't meant as a question, but rather,
a statement.
An admission, more likely,
on her part,
that she didn't really want to know.
Still, it seemed, she must acknowledge it.

I didn't know what to say to her in response,
when she said that.
It seemed to me that I was quite furious,
full of rage,
but couldn't say why.
Certainly, I blamed myself for it.

As I think about it now,
avoiding the consideration of other people's feelings,
or wounding them when I am hurt or angry,
is not how I want to address my future.

I believe, however, that proceeding to the contrary is one of the most difficult things I will do.

Carpet corner

I decided to lift the corner of the wall-to-wall carpeting in my apartment.
Why I have now thought to do so I do not know, as I have lived with this carpet for nearly nine years, and the possibilty had never crossed my mind, before just now.
Perhaps I wished to see the underside of my life, as only my downstairs neighbor would be able to, without the interference of my own body and its' experiences.

As I gently peeled it back, a corner next to one of the large windows,
I was expecting to see a variety of insects, dust, and perhaps the remnants of an item left behind from a tenant of long ago.
Really, a thriving, active world was what I had imagined.
Instead,
I saw a dirty, wooden floor,
but had a definite sense of satisfaction,
and felt a bit proud for having done so.

One illumination hides another

This morning,
one hour before the official sunrise,
it was as dark as I can imagine it being.
Still, I could see,
though just barely.
The sky was clear, without clouds or fog,
and stars were visible in the rich, deep blue
when I looked,
outside of myself.
Seemingly, all of a sudden, I realized that there was a bit more light off in the distance,
and so decided to raise my eyes and head.
As I did, I noticed that there was also more light there,
above me,
and realized that the small lights that were just there had seemed to vanish.
Suddenly, it dawned on me that something must be lost to be gained,
and that perhaps my feelings about the world were true after all;
that it truly is finite.

Regarding seeing

Cool, calming and grey-blue,

the early morning light may only make suggestions as to what I might see; it cannot determine it.

Is that what I wish to experience over to my right side and ahead of me, or is there nothing really there?

When there is plenty of light, in the middle of the day, am I then seeing what is real, or do my preferences lead me then, too?

I imagine that by being nearly blind temporarily, I am able to be more faithful to my subconscious, and perhaps discern my environment in a richer, more creative way.