musings from the window… (dreaming of gingerbread houses)

musings from the window… (dreaming of gingerbread houses)

I might see the allure now, everything capped and framed in blankets of pure white, the tempest has gone out to sea, the world has settled teetering towards normalcy, the grit and dirt of the pace has not had a chance to corrupt the scene, the cold freezes the world or slows this down as much at least, enough to breathe and watch like chimneys slowly blowing smoke into the sky ceiling, there is a palpable silence to grip when the landscape has been dressed like this, when the local habitat endures the blunt instrument of winter, even the plowed remains, piled up against the curb seem like majestic sculpted berms, foot prints are deep and mark the paths, a distinct record of those who have passed just before you, you size up your shoe against theirs, like a game, filling the gaps with your own gate as you go, gingerbread houses, just make sense to me now, in this moment, covering flaws, making uniform the houses on the street regardless of style and year, I suppose I am dreaming, streaming in the land of rockwell, of sleds and mittens, of hot cocoa, piles of boots scattered in the front hall, sure, the world bounces back swift and the race is back on, shortly, but for a moment, transformed, a neighborhood of warm gingerbread houses is mine to adore…

notes… hey, we got 18 inches of snow here give or take, Edison NJ proper, well, at least to me, north Edison, just outside the donut that is Metuchen, just left of Iselin the Asian Indian capital of the region (damn I am spoiled food wise you can’t imagine, pizza and vindaloo to die for within 10 blocks)

the idea of rain (and sun and moon and stars)

the idea of rain (and sun and moon and stars)

silhouette photography of grass
Photo by Darwis Alwan on Pexels.com

so here I am, rock you like a hurricane, here I am… sorry, 80’s flashback there, so, here I am, sitting outside, waiting for the reported storm to come, the wind has been kicking up for a few hours but is oddly quiet now, cliche, I know, the calm before the storm and all, but what can I say? it applies in this case, the sky has darkened but not to doomsday levels of bleak black, just darker than it should be at this 7pm hour, the kind of dark you experience like a curtain slowly dropping a storm in, a dimming of the lights of sorts, and then begins, the sound, the subtle pitter-patter pacing, the approaching, hearing the footsteps, slowly creeping closer, then building volume while shortening the distance, leaves being gently prodded then a few moments later pelted with droplet heavy hammers, ever closer, waiting for the invisible dam to explode wide open, and the then, a pause, the thought hit me, the actual ‘idea’ of rain and what it is, I understand all the variables as I was taught them at a young age, and the actual science of same, water vapor and the cycle of water through the atmosphere, and I feel robbed, in a way, by the knowledge, the wonder is lost, the sheer amazement of this amazing thing is lost, I imagine, or try to feel the naivety of my ancestral form, looking up into the sky and wondering where this water is coming from, surely clouds, surely one would make that connection with no scientific anchor around, but beyond that, imagine water just appearing from the sky, the sheer amazement, the sheer why, the sheer wonder, how can this water be? maybe I am a romantic when my mind comes to nature, or just a dreamer that prefers to think of the sky as wonder, to dance in the idea that the sun is carried across the heavens in a chariot, the moon a nearby companion, the stars a map of constellation figures… and the rain now beats harder, to the drum to move my bum back indoors, and maybe listen to the drops beating against the window, and perhaps… to dream a little more.