Memory Feather
Memories float like feathers in the sky ~>>>Archive for rain
October.Hard rain
Sunday October 15th
The questions of dissatisfaction were boiling again in my head
When half broken branches were trembling in the rain
And overnight puddle flooded the backyard door
I took the muggy bus
Watching the eyes scanning
From left to right and right to left
All the way to Stanley Park
The haze greeted the stone eyeballs
Breathing out the thick gas outside the steel worm
In no time
Passing by a bus stop
All people stood
Around the rusty benches
The floatplanes flew in the blank sky
In silence
While the raindrops fell on the polygon skies
On the top of the strangers
With the screaming sounds
Between the trees and water
The leaves
As a part of the pavement painting
Were beyond sorrow
Tearing in the vacuum
A tourist said hello
To the red maple
‘Beautiful, isn’t it’
‘Yeah’ I smiled
With weird excitement
The Rockies Trip: Walking in the drizzle
Along the mountain slope winding down to the vast valley, the bus stopped at a big town, where a lake ran through. The outside was raining in the gloomy blue. Soon under the instruction of the guide, the passengers disappeared behind the doors of neon streets. In a while I was glancing at the strangers and their dinner behind the hazy windows. But I said I didn’t need bread or cookies here.
In the end, the way led us to the lakeside. It was broad as a sea and long as a river. There was no bridge. My feet touched the sand and water, rough and pure. The drizzle smelled as fresh as the morning mist. Above the water the lamps were all lighted up for themselves. Walking on the dust of light, the night fell.
