Imaginary Cafe on 10th

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The rain outside falls in sheets, in torrents and I can’t find a word to describe this heavy cold rain, the drops like god’s spitballs, not tears, as big as pingpong balls, so that it hurts when it hits your face, like speedballs, not dropped or falling, but pitched at the earth, bouncing off the pavement, bouncing off the deep blue car, bouncing off that black umbrella with the man underneath, bouncing off itself on the sidewalk, like the splash of divers in a pool. We’re being dive-bombed by rain, like the bird - what bird is that anyhow - that folds itself into the ocean to catch the salmon. Must look that up, magnificent unique bird, unlike the eagle that pulls up short of the surface and swings those thick feathered legs like a gate, to lift the big fish and fly off with it hanging like a keel below the great noisy wings, to a twig nest high in the Douglas fir. How did I get from here to there? The rain, my train, my helicopter into long wet days, where no cafe could offer shelter. The end of a long run, a break for coffee slightly rancid from the thermos, the terrible cold of the wet gloves, and the owl overhead, silently glancing our way. This cafe, small on 10th, flatscreen monitors for those who would pay by the minute to connect with their people. Someone writing, someone studying. The brain is so thirsty and all this rain can’t satisfy. Sweets beckon from a gleaming glass cabinet, the hiss of the barrista, clink and clatter, white wedge cups. The bitter richness in my mouth, the pen in hand, the mind opens, pours out memories of rain.




ah...the osprey!


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