etc.

Crickets in the evening after storm, after work, are calming. Reminds me that there is something more to this day.

Goddess practice: Poemlets IV

Cold moon
White and Blue it stares
through empty sky,
Shines at wet grass
in too-cool-for-August air.
Deigns to ignore that
thuderstorms and tumult reigned
only hours before.

Rome, Alone

In Rome it rains every afternoon. The mornings are clear, blue skies and warm, but every afternoon when I am done with work I am hit by a squall that quickly dissipates and returns to sunshine. I have learned by the 3rd day to carry an umbrella. My hotel, near the Vatican, is in a small alley of a street. An unassuming building but comfortable inside. I had stayed here once before with friends but this time I am on my own. Every morning I come down to the dining room and eat the bread, Nutella, and arrangement of chocolaty pastries served. The dining room and lobby are permeated with the smell of strong, rich coffee but, still, I take tea. This is not the first time I have come to Rome by myself it is in parts fabulous and lonely to wander the streets by yourself.

Airport

This is me at a cafe in the Frankfurt airport drinking a cappuccino and eating a sandwich.
What? You ask, am I not supposed to be in Italy, perhaps already arrived in my Roman hotel? Well, yes, but somehow the flight was overbooked and I decided 400 Euro was worth a day of napping and drinking coffee in the airport.

Germany is grey and flat today. I watch the jets lift and land as rain comes in over the low trees. For a moment a rainbow touches the runway and then the rain is here, splattering on window and drumming on roof.

I am writing to you the old fashioned way- on cocktail napkins. My computer has died and the converter inadvertently checked. Perhaps it is in Rome by now without me.

The rain is done now leaving behind high fanciful clouds and the palest of bluish-white sky. My coffee is gone but for a trace of foam and busy travelers rush to gates and awaiting planes. I wait.

In the tea shop

I come here to work on grey days in part for the community in part for the voyeurism. The peculiar older man who is always here asks me what I am reading currently. He has started an informal book club with some of the women and another man who frequents the shop. At the table next to me a couple chats almost imperceptibly bickering. She is playing a game on her cell phone the entire time they are having tea. Their conversation in friendly, natural but suddenly rises into tension and then disperses. She wants to buy a tea cup like the one in the shop. He thinks they should use what they have rather than buying new stuff. She thinks the problem is the lack of storage. He doesn't like the new storage rack she wants to put in. She thinks his idea would be bad because of the cat. Mundane. But laced with irritability.

Rainy Day

One lone seagull perched on the peak of the roof next door.
Impervious to the rain that drives against my window, bends the trees,
He fluffs his feathers, lifts off.
An awkward flap of wings transforms to graceful glide.
A slow arc and then away.