Ramblings on Weather…
Clouds pregnant with rain were trying their damnedest to blot out the early evening sun and that pushed a thick mattress of humidity down upon us. Omaha had donned a tropical Floridian mask. A breeze would be comfortable but alas we have sent our trademark winds eastward this year which has given birth to one of the most devastating springs of all time to the lands east of the Missouri.
Extranos…
Each blossoming spring, South Omaha bursts into being from its migrant Mexican roots to a thriving urban melting pot of mixed culture as the Cinco de Mayo celebrations come alive. Parade routes are marked along the main drag, 24th street; carnival rides trucked in to sit poised in anticipation, giant mechanical beasts buzzing with kinetic potential; street vendors and shops along the avenue begin to setup their welcoming displays in hopes that the festivities bring forth the throngs of eager patrons that will soon browse and buy up the culture that is for sale so many miles north from its homeland. Here I was, right in the thick of things, a spectator to this grand opus of Latin American heritage transported north to the vast plains of America’s heartland.
A Devilish Streak…
A devilish streak hit tonight, part of a personal philosophy in which I seek balance in all parts of my life – if I live too much seeking selfish sins then I require myself to do something incredibly unselfish – however when I spend enough time and resources doing good, then I simply have to bring out a wicked side (though my wicked side isn’t as bad as it may sound).
Tonight, for example, I discovered that Nebraskans aren’t connoisseurs of world foods, and despite sushi being old-hat in the Midwestern cities like Chicago and Detroit, there are several young men still completely unfamiliar with it. While a caring gentleman had one of the youngest here try his first sushi, I was daring him to snort some wasabi.
Under The Bridge…
I spent one night under the bridge after an invite by a passing bum that saw me writing on a bench outside and under the roof outcropping of a 24hr grocery store during a fierce thunderstorm.
“Come on,” he said. “It’s dry and no cops gonna fuck with ya.”
Spring…
Today is one of those picture-perfect late spring days. There is not a single cloud in the bright azure sky and just the slight tease of a breeze that brings life to everything. The trees dance to a rhythm befitting their age—young saplings shake with excitement, happy to show off their brand new leaves. The tallest of them would much rather hold each other close to a slow waltz while the single giant oak observes, lost in memories of when it used to dance. It sways a few branches in acknowledgement to the beauty of the day.
Below them is a sea of grass, no longer still and flat, as the breeze drives waves upon it. Blades show their light, shy side only for a glimpse, and then the sea turns back to its darker shade once more. Newly born dandelions ride out the waves of grass, reaching for the sun – a warmth they are only just discovering and want more and more of it. Some leaves have set off on their own, laughing as they tumble past the dandelions like children running free.
Sullen stones remain frozen despite the warmth of the day. They know only the callousness and embitterment that befalls on immortality. These stones have seen such playful birth time and time again only to see it all die time and time again. The children leaves, now so full of playful abandon will wither and change with age then roam, lost, when fall comes. The stones have seen this act play out too many times to care for such a new warm spring day. Little bushes near them try their hardest to poke and tickle the stones out from their mirth, for they have seen much of the same and yet each new spring still shines their coats. But nothing can cheer up those cold, callous stones. They curse the breeze for they fear the wind. Once mighty mountains, now boulders; they had such grandeur in their youth only to become “decoration”, doomed to sit among such annoying bushes.
About the Wordherder
I am a 33 yr old freelance writer, website developer, perpetual student, arbiter of silliness, aficionado of cheese, and proud owner of a beautiful mini-dachshund named Carrera.
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