interlude

I’m not sitting at the old piano this afternoon, merely across the doorway from it. I can’t bear to get up close to it, knowing how distracting it was last weekend. I’m hiding in the dark instead, trying to write about a place very far away. Trying to remember how a certain building looked, smelled, sounded in repose.

Outside, crocuses are exploding through the ground. So many in such a concerted motion that the noise must be deafening earthworms throughout Chicago. As if they weren’t deaf already.

Oh, The Great American Midwest!  The seasons here are so…Midwestern. Especially spring, for all that it comes draped in pastels and silence, spring is only another kind of storm: Thunder and hail and buds bursting green into tornado skies… and it always catches me unprepared.

Even if I really am ready for it inside myself. Even if I secretly enjoy seeing new life come with force equal to destruction. Even if I am always a tiny bit jealous of this wider fickle sky.

~ by weltschmerz on March 15, 2009.