The Long Way

Not long past 4 am, time stood still for a moment. The black edifice of the city rising against burning promise of dawn while the moon lingers full and heavy, in deep communion with the mountain. A three-note call rings out again and again, above the rumble bringing the Monday commerce, and is answered from beyond the undefinable. Deu-lou-dee, deu-lou-dee, endlessly rising and falling, then the sky breathes and the day proceeds.

On Saturday the sky came down, sudden in its heaviness, and we watched in quiet worship of the water gathering, pooling up and spreading over the browning world. All day we sung the praise of the rain in our primordial rebirth; hummed with the voice and wings of thousands set free by the warm arpeggio of rain. In the morrow the air thickened, interminable until the fading memory of March. ( Read more... )