Year 50 of being abandoned on this sphere with 7 billion others.
Day four of unrelenting tears pouring down on us from a mournful Sky. No one seems to know why she cries so, or what to do to stem the flow of tears. I want to shout, “Why, Sky? Why do you cry? Got something in your eye?”
Alas, as you can see, the never ceasing precipitation has addled my brain and made me wax poetic…and badly, at that.
The other occupants of this massive orb of chemical elements seem to be just as stymied as I, though their reactions to the continual curtain of water differ vastly from one to another. Some have donned galoshes and clutched umbrels as they go about their business, albeit reluctantly and in foul moods.
Others have barricaded themselves in their lonely dwellings, darkened by the Sky’s squelching of the Sun’s rays, content to lie still and bury themselves under mounds of cotton, wool, and linen.
And still others, curiously so, have abandoned the garments that cover them, especially their footwear, and run quite wildly out into the cloak of condensation, seeming to gravitate purposely towards any pool of water they find in their path, no matter how small. There seems to be a magnetic pull that they cannot resist, as they spy each puddle and speed towards it, leaping in the air and landing in the center with deliberation, and…glee.
A curious sense of delight has run through me as I observe these ones, the ones who seem to have joyously embraced and even welcomed the perpetual weeping of the Sky, as they have in times past embraced the days of radiant sunshine. These gladsome souls appear to accept their daily lot, to “roll with the punches,” as they say in the vernacular.
And yet, as I ponder this conundrum, the difference in reaction to such unceasing wetness from group to group of my co-dwellers here, I now find myself irresistibly drawn to the latter. Their merry demeanor, their fervor and enthusiastic approach to…life, finding the pleasurable aspects even among the most deplorable of situations…
I must now cease my musings and recording, this entry being too long as it is. The script beneath my hand is becoming hazy and undefined, obscure, as my mind whirls with decision and determination. My hands tremble with anticipation as I pull off my boots, and my frock falls to the dusty floor.
I hasten to the door, over the scuffed threshold, skipping lightheartedly into the world outside…
Into the rain.