The cold rain finally ended as I skirted the swan pond and paused under the cherry trees. Their blossoms were bruised and torn, and a brownish-pink film covered the trunks and the ground.
The cygnets had not arrived yet, so while “Miller” eyed me warily he did not hiss or attack. And “Seville” dozed on her nest.
The world reeked of mud, and worms, and decay.
I was cold, I was miserable, and my feet were already damp. So I was less than pleased with the ankle-deep puddle commanding the path. There was no walking around it either: deep muck oozed on both sides.
in [just] spring –
Thankfully I never crossed campus without my Walkman. And as I waded into the puddle (with a grimace) Jim Morrison started to moan and shriek and chant in my ear.
“You know the day destroys the night – night divides the day –”
Okay, I’ll admit it: Jim Morrison’s voice does weird stuff to me. I can’t embrace a grand majority of his ideas – but – I was “in a mood” that day. Was it a whim? Or a rebellion? I don’t know. Something in his voice made me stop in the middle of that puddle.
I gazed into the water – and there – there! – I saw old autumn leaves in chocolate and chestnut. I saw golden pine needles. I saw cherry blossoms that had been soaked translucent. And then – then! – the clouds parted and gleaming white herds blossomed over the water.
And Jim kept chanting:
“Break on through … break on through … break on through …
…hey … hey … hey … hey… hey …”
And all I could do was stand there – shivering – shuddering – feeling unhinged.
[ the sky ]