Thick, gray clouds claw over the Rockies, in full view to the West. The wind picks up in my face, signaling the change in weather. I’ve been told that winter in Denver is not over till April, and even May has been known for surprises. February has felt like an early Spring, but I’m on my guard. With all the dust floating around, a good rain sounds perfect. Walking down S. Dartmouth, I look West to those clouds, hoping they’ll wash away the dirt.
I take my seat on the bus next to a catalog, looks like an L.L. Bean. The publication is called “The Watchtower”, something about letting us know that they witnessed Jehovah. It lays out like anything else; corner segments dedicated to ads aimed at curing your depression or lingering existential conflicts, instead of selling plush snow boots. I close it and set it down next to me, where it was found. Maybe someone else will find it interesting. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate the answers, I couldn’t relate to the questions.
It’s nice to know that someone’s watching out, though. I couldn’t help but stare at Super Tuesday, yesterday, trying to figure out what the next year will be like. Live Delegate Tracker! didn’t provide hope, or despair. The whole game could swing either way. Lately, the forecasting has lost its appeal, as the race for president grows more polarizing and perplexing. Not just who will win, I mean, but how we’ll all react. If anyone thinks they have something definitive at this point, be my guest.
It’s all weather. No one can dampen our early Spring, or rescue us from a long Winter. I’m believing less and less in hidden motives, it redirects blame. We’ll get what we deserve.
Lately in Denver, the nights have grown warm, as they do in the heart of Spring. It’s all eluding, though, to the months when we sit outside and eagerly wait for Summer. But we’re not there yet. First, we need a really good rain.
the planet. 