The fog rolled in with the onset of rain, enveloping the Financial District. It felt every bit like a scene in a SyFy movie, and the Oculus’ modernistic structure made it even more so. On the way back to Grove Street, I walked through the night mist; the streets eerily quiet. I emerged from the subway at Barclay’s Center to a downpour.
The sky was gunmetal gray, the rain steady.
There was no way not to get wet, the raindrops were enormous. So I walked home in the rainstorm, the shower matching a melancholic mood. By the time I got home, I was soaked to the bone.
The raindrops are the size of paint splatter. The gods taking a page from Jackson Pollock. These last few days the weather has been schizophrenic. Cold weather followed by a late summer day in April, a mad thunderstorm as the hot and cold fronts battle behind the skyscape. Hot, cold, hot, cold. An in-between monsoon wind and rain.
It’s over before I can sneeze, the rain drops linger on the petals and leaves and the metal stairs like morning dew.
Then I see the passion flowers bursting amid the rosemary, and all is right again.
This morning is wet, the rain falling in buckets. The sky is a bright gray, the color of lightning.
A pair of postal workers discusses politics over breakfast. A toddler waves to the nearby sparrows having a bagel feast. A man behind me scans his phone. It’s me and my newspaper, a Brazilian Dark Roast and a corn muffin this morning at Fairway.
On page 3 there’s a story about a tree. The image shows its stark naked skeleton, crooked branches brittle reaching skyward in pain. The color of its bark silvery black. The caption shares details about its death, this 600-year old iconic pillar from Bernards Township in NJ.
It reminds me of the Grinch tree that used to stand in front of my childhood house in Bensonhurst. It’s drooping branches hanging lifeless, its limbs in disrepair. Its roots tangled amid the underground wires and cables emitting who knows what kind of energy into the earth. An eyesore dying from the inside out.
The rain stops. People dash outside scurrying to their cars and the ferry, eager to make it to their next destination.
No one carries an umbrella.