do they have feet?

Yesterday, I woke slowly to the thundering sound of raindrops. They hurled their equestrian bodies onto my rooftop, flying off into the abyss of air and cement beneath them. What courage. I admire their willingness to leap. Perhaps they are just less cognizant of their mortality than we are. {not to mention the fact, that life itself has us confused enough at times.} These drops of water never die, but sink into the earth, or dry up in the sun; an evaporated life. a life of running down window panes, and across floors. So much to see and do. Perhaps there are the tiniest of mice living inside of each drop, running about looking for scraps of food. Much like our own lives, the water knows not where it will go, or just when it will turn. It too must trust in the giant hands of the universe, only it lacks heart and soul and mind as far as I can tell. Well, maybe just mind.

So I sat quietly in a cocoon of steamed windows, thinking about my own life and the lives of people around me. Some close, and some far. I pulled back curtains, and found myself enshrined in my slow and private world. Do these drops dream? Or do they live here, feet strongly planted in the present? Do they have feet? Alas, these rivers, this water, it does shape the earth, and similarly our lives. We are balls of dirt and skin and sand, swollen with blood and thumping hearts. The collection of our hope and our anguish rises in the form of leaves each day, and attaches itself gently to the highest branches of the highest trees. Perhaps we are the leaves of the earth, rising and falling with the wind, and the changing of seasons.

Last night, Ron and I mixed the last of “I Am Not In Spain;” a perfect example of unpredictability. A record that was supposed to take one week, became a walk of two years. One never really knows I guess. We must simply trust the water and breathe. Let the sun touch us. The light.

Posted by jeff pitcher at February 3, 2004 09:10 AM

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