12.9.09. Arctic air, still; the temperatures somewhere between 20 and 30 degrees Fahreneheit. It's cold and whitegold at walking level and blue and calm above.
But yesterday at lunchtime I drove to Fred Meyer because it was windy. I got out of the car and began walking through this unbearably bright silver-white sunlight. I looked down because looking up was painful. Under the SUV I'd parked next to there was an exhaust pipe dripping, and in and around the puddle beneath, three small, black birds chattering and bathing and drinking.
For a minute I wondered if they were bathing and drinking in oil – and then realized the pipe was dripping water. It hadn't heated enough to burn off the overnight condensation.
I looked up. Asphalt, pale concrete, bright hard ground, withered grass; no water between the SUV exhaust-pipe and the river, two miles north.
And then I realized that we, the birds and everyone else, were surrounded by a bright, cold drought.
No comments:
Post a Comment