Top was down for the drive in, though, and the traffic was weirdly light. I had nobody in front of me or behind me until I got to 44th St, and even there it was only a couple of cars. Maybe the added atmospheric weight of the clouds showing up so soon after only a couple of sunny days pressed folks a little more deeply into their beds this morning, delaying the rising hour and correspondingly lightening my early morning commute?
Maybe it is a demonstration of the waterbed theory of life (press down on any single spot on a waterbed and it only causes another area to rise; so goes life), the weight of clouds causes a lightening of commute traffic.
Emily Wilson's poem Winter Journal: Scratchings among the Burnings offers a beautiful description of clouds (albeit winter clouds, in this case) when she writes, in part:
clouds in rafts above, upon one another, pushed up along
the margin of sky
dark underbellies
Shirring of grasses and the nearly empty apple tree behind
Where is this beginning from?
The roll of clouds bolsters up close
moves vaguely east
Hear the interstate, its rush of backdrop constant
Oh those deep colors are something sacred
Sacred, maybe, but also weighty in a disappointing way when folks are hungry for a little summer sunshine.
A nice playlist this morning, with a weighting toward the Latin influences:
- Lafayette Gilchrist: Volcano Red
- Franco de Vita: No Se Olvida
- Nada Surf: Always Love
- Jaime Torres: Cuidad Blanca
- Posted via Hermes.
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