Friday, May 05, 2006
the quiet earth
The air was wet and cool; the sky as dark as the lake. Construction workers made jokes about the waves as protesters held their signs across the street. The wind was thick with mosquitos - great towers of mosquitos, like a scientist's drawing of electrons, ever buzzing, out of signt. The water crept over and back across the top of the elevated rock. Not one person walked on the trail. A maintenance worker cut down the weeds, holding his blade like a cue. He held it behind his body as I ran toward him, feeling a blister rub the bottom of my sole, watching the blade turn, fanning away the bugs, waiting for the rain to begin.
