A Moment

Steady rain, soft rain, and now the wind has died. A swell moves in from the north and with it comes a light dusting of fog. A few of the outlying islands have disappeared. The sky has a bit of detail but essentially resembles an enormous cotton ball.

The few people here mope around in yellow slickers, which their dogs mimic. The big hardy black dogs — they that defy the leash — of the weekend are nowhere to be seen. Several great blue herons inhabit the outer reaches of the docks. If any bird is stately, it is these. They carefully place each step: knees bending backwards and gaze at unsuspecting prey. For as long as they can stand still, time for them must be on a different scale then ours. We have come from years to months, from hours to minutes; from seconds to such incomprehensibly small units of time that we have determined our solar system’s clock is derelict. Grudgingly we adjust ourselves to the errors of the universe. This morning’s rain lingered from the day before. It dissipated early in the afternoon leaving a warm sunny day in its wake only to be interrupted by a spirited line of thunderstorms.

And now I fear the rain, a soft rain not disturbed by wind will linger until tomorrow morning and begin the cycle over again.