April 28th, 2002

caillebotte_man at his window

Spring Storm

In the mountains of California, spring storms are the best storms. The rain is seldom constant, and can be anything from a light mist, to a steady drizzle, to a furious downpour. In between bouts of rain, the clouds will often part and sunlight will stream down on the wet greenery and make everything sparkle, and the sky becomes a complex, shifting scene of grey and silver and bright blue and brilliant white. There can be wind, as well. Strong wind gusting down grey streets, or shaking the water from trees and sending it flying through sunshine like airborne diamonds. Then, the air will fall still, and the songs of birds will fill the day. Yesterday was a perfect spring storm.

And, the best cloudy nights are spring nights with a full moon, such as tonight. It is warm enough to stay outdoors for a long time, watching the clouds rush across the sky in the winds far above the stillness that now prevails here in the damp and fragrant forest. No other light is like the light of the moon seen through a moving cloud. It shifts and roils, and the clouds round about grow brighter or darker second by second. It is like slow lightning. Too, the shadows on the ground fade or deepen quickly, the shapes of the trees now sharp, now vague, now showing some detail of leaf or needle, now blending with the darkness around them. But, soon this scene will vanish into greater light with the coming dawn. Tomorrow may be a lovely day, but, for now, I would be content to see the night stretch on for hours more.
caillebotte_man at his window


As I've mentioned before, I seldom remember dreams. This morning, I woke up with one of those rare exceptions. I was in an office somewhere, and I think I was working there. (I've never worked in an office.) I was opening my mail, and a big manilla envelope morphed into a purse as I opened it, and I pulled out a white folder which, when I opened it, contained some loose cigarettes, some Doublemint gum, a folded handkerchief, a pale blue business card covererd in indecipherable writing, a book of matches, a roach clip, and two fat joints. I sat there looking at the joints for a couple of minutes, and then I woke up. To the best of my memory, I've never before dreamed about doobage. Although, since I don't remember most of my dreams, perhaps I dream about it all the time. I haven't seen an actual joint in over sixteen years. Very strange. Dreams. What the hell.