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Picture Window
October 8th, 2007The rain came down in torrents, crashing into the live oak that fills the picture window that in turn fills the far wall of the tiny room in which I live. The branches of the oak swayed with the weight of the water. It was a green and luminescent waterfall.
Later I was standing on the front porch. The Spanish moss had opened. The tree was especially lush. There was handsome rooster walking about the yard an into the street.
A man walked by, pushing a cart full of scrap metal, assembled from two ten speed bicycles that where somehow bound together with a platform in between for the cargo.
At that point, it occurred to me that I did not have my camera. That I’ll have to forget this day, although it seems as though it wants to be remembered.
