Drizzle - Doze

Each morning I arise, looking at the grey light of morning. I know that I must vacate my warm cocoon of slumber. My younger brother is a bed away, determinedly unconscious to these early moments. I smile inwardly, proud of the progress he has made lately. He is so much more skilled and poised than I was at his age - only it appears he believes it is the world vs. him every day. I prepare my backpack for the next 12 hours of work I will perform. My Business law textbook must weigh 7 lbs. - it is the heaviest addition to the pile.

I finish my preparations and don my faded jean jacket. I got this nearly six long years ago - it was oversized, but I thought it was jaunty, besides, it had large inner pockets to store trinkets and oddities. As I consider that it still is in my options to wear, I wryly reconsider my wiry frame and the fact that I stretch rather than gain muscle as I age.

Swinging the backpack to my shoulders, I pause, seeing a shoulder bag full of poetry books. I will need to purvey more works for the deadline of 25 works by Thursday's class. The bag is repaired, the leather straps were worn from my overloading it in the past. I consciously try to limit the weight within, and flick it over my head - I need to start sometime on the assignment.

At school, I work on homework and read textbooks to understand the concepts and definitions involved in my economics classes. I murmur to myself, staring into space for small sessions of memorization, then continue while keeping an eye on my time until the next class. During a long break, I look outside and stare at the overcast sky sending blessings of water upon the disgruntled heads of students and faculty below.

I like the rain, though I prefer not to get my bags wet. There is something freeing in watching the heavens send down droplets. Depending on the intensity, the rain becomes more interesting and exciting. I dislike drizzles that soak without a purpose - it just lazily drifts down - a hope not fulfilled into something greater. A healthy rain, with a brisk wind is like a drive-by shower, it allows me to look up and laugh at the sky with joy - this is what rain is meant to be. Thunderstorms make the heart race - the improbable chance that a stray bolt might catch the unwary; the full-throated thunder is the war drums; the jagged lightning, a brilliant scourge.

When a storm really picks up, gathering itself into a tornado, the veil is torn away - nature unleashed in all its fury and energy. It is unreasonable, powerful, and breathtaking. It reminds us of our frailty and helplessness when compared to the glory and awefullness of the world upon which we cling.

"This world is where I breathe, let it never be called home." - another blog's title and most fitting...