Rain

Early  morning earth is hard underfoot. Eyes to the ground I  make
out  someplace  small  particles of loam and sand  locked  into  a 
matrix of ice crystals. Where the sun warmed them yesterday stones
of  any  size  settle  into  the  unsubstantial  element   leaving 
pockmarks  and  craters.  Irregular fissures open up  a  miniature
moonscape.The  surface  is otherwise blown bare except for  a  few
fallen branches and sprigs of  pine. George takes a leak and jumps
at the lead in play, his mood unaffected by the surroundings.

The  man  I'm doing business with in town punches  data  into  the
keyboard between questions and comments about the records I  bring
him.  His heart is on a 32-foot boat with 500 feet of sail  and  a
crew of eight in a race on Lake Champlain.  He says he'll visit me
in the mountains as soon as his work season is over.  My  computer
guy shows me the software is in. He should have the tower ready in
a few days--new bigger hard drive and expanded RAM. His wife has a
black  toy dog that runs around their disorderly little shop.  She
tells  me more about the Siberian sled dog at home that  takes  up
the whole living room sofa.

War manufacture obsoletes the longrange strategic bomber here  and
a shudder of pain courses through all the arteries.  When recovery 
comes the general health is not as vital or taken for granted. The
mall doesn't age well.  Walmart and Sam's are alert for what trade 
there  is.  Our  dollar  weakens against  the  Canadian.  On  base
structures  are  converted  to cheap housing  or  raised  and  the
quarter-acre   plots  sprout identical  new  detached  $150,000's.
There's  a  new  rotary at the old  gate,  an  upscale  retirement
center, a bike path and  a half-mile line of maple saplings, frail
but of good stock. 

The boss at the Chinese restuarant takes my order for pork egg foo
young and beer.  It takes a while.  There are two hospital workers
at the next table. The waitress is Rod's wife. She's strong, earns 
good tips,  and doesn't know me.  When he first gets the motel I'm
surprised to see her. He fixes up the last cottage on the line for 
a  convenience store.  I shop there for the egg rolls and dim  sum
she  makes  but  it  doesn't  last.  She  gets  homesick  for  her 
girllfriends in town. 

Now she whispers some confidence into the ear of the black lady, a
regular.  The other is dyed blonde with hair puffed up  high  over 
her   head.  When  she's gone they comment about  my  use  of  the
chopsticks.  I tell them it's not difficult--mostly one just holds
the   rice  bowl near the face and pushes the  food  in.  Grasping
pieces  of meat or vegetable takes a bit of practice.  On the  way
out I  compliment the boss on the food. With pride he lets me know
it's  made to order.  I speak to him about a dish I'd like him  to
make  for  me.  I must order the lobster in advance.  His chef  is
from Chinatown in New York.

I  stop  for the mail.  At the new Post Office the box is  in  the
lobby,  convenient, waist high with a key. Netflix in it. I get to
see   Kevin  only  when there's a yellow package slip  or  I  have
something  to mail.  Mac's retired possibly dead.  I have  to  ask
about it as I  never know when it happens.  On the way out a large
wreck of a man lumbers towards me along on the walk.  I feel sorry
so I ask if  it's raining or what,  to make conversation.  There's
no evidence on the shiny car metal as I get in to start. 

The  sky behind the forest of pine is gray without variation.  The 
tree  trunks make a vertical design and the greenery is  dense  on 
top with a spike.  Air moving through carries along water with it.
There's no sighn of rain but only passing through it one feels the 
moisture which collects in time.  The stones appear shiny with  it
and  the wood is black.   Later I'm surprised by a sensation  when
the  cool liquid from it falls off the roof edge onto my face.  By
evening the soil is entirely soft and I find the impression of  my
footsteps all along the extent of my walk.

Jay NY April '02 (Subtle Rain, For Francesca)