April Showers

It had to rain eventually, and when it did, I was glad that the wondrous spell, which Spring has casted upon this truly wonderful city, was not undone. As I left my flat to make the short, pleasant journey to the gelateria on Bute Street, a smile found its way to my face. It was surprisingly warm and, reasonably protected as I was from the rain, didn't feel too different from the beautiful days we had had - only a little wetter.

Walking a little of the way home after some gelato and espresso, I noticed the flowers that have managed to free themselves from the confines of lifeless-looking branches. They were beautiful (in fact, I stopped to look at a bough full of pink flowers, hoping I could put a name to them).


I am not the biggest fan of rain and perhaps, the reason I tolerate it as much as I do is the sturdy umbrella I'd invested in some months ago. However, today was strange in that not only did I appreciate the light shower but, as I breathed in the mild but comforting scent of rain for the first time since I came to live in this city, I also felt (and continue to feel) that had it not been as wet, the day would not have been half as good.


If today were a cake, then the flowers would have been the cake itself. And the rain? The rain would have been the frosting. For it was the rain that ultimately lifted my mood, whispering promises of better days to come.

Good afternoon!

I can't claim to know entirely the purpose of the next few paragraphs. But I have been injected - to the point of saturation - with zest and zeal, and I feel that I must share this with you as it was, very easily, the best laugh I've had all week.

Barbra Streisand's Smile playing in the background.

"This is supposed to be one of those songs that you listen to when you're depressed, to make you feel better... and less depressed about life. But the music is so melancholic that it makes you want to just... (and here I made a gesture, which I hoped was sufficient to render the actual saying of 'kick off' unnecessary.)"

More Barbra Streisand in the background.

"Yes, I'm beginning to think how I could use this fork (light gripping of fork, which was covered with a healthy amount of frosting and cupcake crumbs - a feeble attempt at theatre) to... (and here, hand movements that one would normally associate with wrist-slitting)"

A lot of laughter.

"This could be one of those songs that you listen to while you slit your wrists!" I laughed very, very hard.

---

A rather macabre, morbid subject to laugh about, I completely agree. In my defence, however, when you're under the influence of the devil('s food cupcake) and a good game of Scrabble, anything has the potential to be of great comedic value.

Thank you for a fantastic Wednesday afternoon.

It is not fear

It is not fear that you see in her eyes
left exposed by lids which would not close.

It is not fear that trembles her thin lips
in the corners creased by time's daily feasts.

It is not with fear that her small hands shake
each fine movement betrays joints hacked away.

A decade's passed since she was afraid last
but it is not courage in place of fear.

Only, she has forgotten to remember.

---

Man is beautiful. Peculiar, but beautiful. The beauty of man and all his peculiarities and complexities can be felt so profoundly at times that the eyes glaze with fresh tears. I could write an elaborate essay, but perhaps this should be saved for a different time and place.

Happy Birthday, Pappa.