Thursday, July 14, 2011

Nobody, Not Even the Rain, Has Such Small Hands

The Taiwanese know what to do when it rains. They stand under eaves or beside tables in coffee shops and watch it fall, pounding the ground as if it is almost raining upward with little fists.
They roll up their pants and venture on the sides of streets, dodging trucks that splash. Ooo... wet toes that need a dry towel.
They wrap themselves in yellow plastic and ride their scooters through puddles with grim faces.
They come out on porches in their underwear and smoke cigarettes on 7-11 stoops, drop their umbrellas in the slots by the door and speak in low whispers.
But not me, no not me and my little merry band. We wrap ourselves tight in blankets to hide from the thunder and read e.e. cummings with flashlights.
I tell my little daughters, we are from the beautiful land of Oregon, where the rain comes to be known as a friend. Walking outside with an umbrella seems almost to deny its love. (And yes, that is a Scorpions shirt dude is wearing... rock me like a what?)
So we dance instead. We walk out into the middle of the street and jump and stomp and slide and laugh. Let the world watch and pine away.
Of course, we finish our homework and hot chocolate first.
Then we get a pair of rubber boots for stomping. e.e. would understand. He always does.
Because for me, no matter how hard it rains, I just feel closer and closer to you all. Forever, nobody but you.

1 comment:

  1. It sounds like you're missing Portland as much as I am, Zousha. But jumpers remember the Portland rain from cloud forests or jungles and the smell always takes us right back.