1. Home late
(very late) from work, but needing to burn some of the energy that had been
festering in my office chair, I set out for a run around
the Capitol Hill neighborhood where I live.
And there I made a discovery: the federal government turns on its sprinkler
systems at about 12:30am. On the wide lawn behind the U.S. Capitol
building, a whole field of sprinklers sprouts in regimental rows, spraying perfect snowcone orbs, like
giant dandelions with cotton seeds you could blow away, or like squat
spirits popping up out of the ground to haunt the surface in eerily organized fashion. In a word, the perfect invitation for a late-night
runner to dash through, to bob, weave, twirl, cut and dive through,
pretending to dodge the spray (or spirits) and joyfully failing. A hundred yards away, on marble steps of the Capitol, two security guards could only watch--and then I was gone.
2. We had a downpour, a
cloudburst so heavy, so torrential, that it bordered on the ridiculous. As soon as I got home, I peeled off my sopping blazer and formerly-creased trousers, pulled on my running shorts, and went out to get properly soaked.
The
interesting thing about a heavy rain is how much space there is. I quickly became entirely wet: my shirt a translucent shrinkwrap around my ribs and chest, my curly
hair matted flat on my forehead, my black running shorts an oil slick around my thighs. And yet, when I spread open my palms or tried to lean with my face into the apparent wall of water, I was left empty, grasping. All I could feel was a
series, admittedly rapid, of little pelts of cold stunning water--rap tap tip tap tap pop--that vanished before I could examine, feel, or reflect upon them. I reached out for substance and instead found mostly empty space, pocked with tantalizing interruptions.
It wasn't until after the run, stretching
out on the sidewalk, that I figured out the secret. Cross legged, butt planted in a concrete semi-puddle, I let the rain fall upon me.
And it did. Over and over and
over again it fell upon me. I felt the
individual drops and did not try to grasp them; I just let them rest and sink
into me, covering entirely, bit by bit.
