The leaves have fallen off the trees of knowledge as if the arrival of autumn had long past. They have blown around in winter rains and got stuck haphazardly in the muck. Confusion has imploded and I feel dejected. As I shower my physical form, I contemplate the now clear sky and wish for inspiration. Just as I become conscious of this line of thought, I visualize the words becoming unstuck and rising, evaporating into the new warm air. I begin to panic. I raise my hands above my head and wiggle my ten fingers in desperation. I’m not sure where this action comes from; it’s as if my ancestral rain dance was a nursery rhyme. I pause. Spring clouds are forming. As they brew they get heavy with words. And all at once it begins to pour. I bang open the shower door. The raindrops are big and purposeful and descend in straight paths. I run down the stairs, wrapping my hair as I go, while laying out glass pots to catch the rain. I arrive at the waiting screen. I’ve caught most of it. I only have to pick up one at a time. I can rearrange them later. The rain slows and drips into specific pots and I collect them too, in due course. Time has sped by or passed in slow motion, I’m not sure which. I’m done though. I can now get dressed.
Michelle Sadler
