Box Canyon Blog.com
"We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us." C. Bukowski
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Monday, May 6, 2013
A Rainy Day Muse, and Scrap Book Shots From The Artful RV Adventure
It's a beautiful day to reminisce in Lovely Ouray. Spring sprinkles. Droplets of rain cling to the Imax Windows of Mine Shack Number Two, uncertain of their fate.
I watch them gang together (come, there is strength in numbers!). It's a smart-rain that gathers...it doesn't beat its head against the pane! It finds and follows pathways of least resistance in tiny seams between the surface-tension of a winter's worth of grime.
Single file, the gang breaks free...rivulets, running wild on an unpredictable "boys night out." They pause to puddle on painted sill, a brief huddle on the upper deck, and, finally, they realize their dream...their reason for being! It's the next stop on their re-cycle merry-go-round of precipitation, runoff, transpiration, and evaporation...the free fall without a chute!
Only to be swallowed up in the open mouth of a thirsty lawn...chugged like a beer at a bachelor party. Rain serves its purpose. Why can't we?
Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention, please: Purpose is now being served in the Lovely Ouray Room. Note: This is a metaphor. I repeat, this is a metaphor. No action is required on your part. There is no free lunch, free ride, or anything of concrete value. But there is, however, much to lose. Alas, an ambiguous parable, and it stings like wind-driven rain. You are who you are and where you are because of your own mind-set, which dictates your decisions, or lack thereof.
No, this isn't some Mad Scientologist impostor at the Macbook Pro's keyboard...trying to manipulate your mindset. I've not been taken hostage...tied up in slipknots of white nylon rope, fingers and mouth gagged and bound with duct tape (you wish!). Nope, somedays some people are just ripe for poetry and the pitter pat of a soft rain...the boils of cumulus, a bottomed out barometer, and the rumble of thunder, ricocheting through a proper Crevice.
There are no "reflections in boiling water." A rainy day is a good time to sit and be still...alternate thy gaze from the pages of a good book to patterns of raindrops on thy window. Buttered toast, jam, and a hot tea completes this scene.
This mood courtesy of the Box Canyon Blogger, who occasionally leaves scraps of meat on his BCB "bones." Feel free as a rivulet to help yourself. Me? I'm full.