coltrane's after the rain

sunday morning after we have brunch and we're all smiles that the weather is nice today, we've been tortured with unbearable heat the past few months but today is a good day, the wind is talking, the roof a snare drum starting with a slow patter. then it starts picking up strength and tempo and i am all relaxed. i go out to greet the dogs and i see my mother sweeping the rain water off the porch. i see it's not an easy job for her so i take another broom casually help, within seconds we realize this is bad, this is black, stinky canal water and it's rising up fast, oh man i need a bigger broom, nope this water is unforgiving and my mother and i sweep harder and faster, pushing the water off the veranda.

my body starts to hurt and i later discover that my mother is having it a bit worse than i do. the other people inside the house start to realize we need help and urgently. they grow frantic and the water is seeping into the living room, we move like clockwork and my mom gets some sort of metal bar to pry open the covers on the canal, she is a strong woman, but i'm not too sure if it helped. i see some trash gathering up outside the gate, and i curse the national attitude towards trash and it is that it must be someone else's business to pick it up. well anyway after a while the rain subsided and the work piped down as my handyman uncle arrived to patch up the place.

i give and take a bath, and the rest of my sunday goes by insignificantly. hours spent with a pen in hand, mouth agape, calling for a moment of genius, of concentrated energy, viscous romanticism like the old days, but these days they are hard to come by. this right here is a cheap shot, knowing full well it is worthless and even more so without the music. i am writing for no audience but myself, this is disappointing, so tragic, but i surrender for now hoping one day i find my tongue.