Was it yesterday? I went sailing with Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner. Then I took off time traveling with Robert Louis Stevenson.
In truth writing is an art. One that is a joy to see, to experience. I have loved reading, forever. Not so much writing, though I have written a fair bit. But it is within the last 12 months or so that I have come to appreciate the beauty of prose.
No coincidence that it is poetry that led me to prose. They seem to be one and the same thing. One more beautiful than the other, however it is seen.
I have learnt that the most mundane of happenings can be clothed in clothes worth kings. That I do not need to seek a huge plot to tell a tale. And that the small things that happen to me can be magnified by the language of use.
My mind, my mood, is a keel on the sea of writing. Maybe not a keel, but the wind in the sails. Sometimes I fly, high as a kite, riding the thermals, motionless ease in what I do. Other times I seem to sink like a stone in water, unable to sail even on the denser media. I can be brutally honest with myself, and with what occurs around me. I can be light as a humming bird, beak lanced into a flower for honey. All that is possible.
And I do not have to seek inspiration from the moon. It is everywhere around me. In the Billy goat’s antiques. The street urchin’s begging, the desperate urgency of the boda-boda riders. And in the sun, and moon and stars all around.
Today, I woke up to rain.
Ok, I was in dungeon. An unfortunate look was misinterpreted. A particularly interesting specimen of a man, and me caught off guard. Looking. Suspicion is a flame in dry tinder, and since we do not quarrel, we decided, mutually, not to ignore it, but to build igloos around ourselves.
Lasted to bed time. Mosquitoes chased me to the guestroom, and the cold of the morning, and rain woke me freezing at around five. Made it to my bed, in time for him to wrap himself round me. Heaven.
But seems I am still not forgiven.
Rain, rain, water, everywhere. And every drop of it drinkable.
It has been raining cats and dogs, like it did Easter day. My home does not flood, is on a hillside. Lucky me. I woke up dry and warm, but had to drag myself to work. I have just heard that in Nateete, the residents are on the verandahs, with the few of their belongings that cannot stand water. The houses are flooded, and they are seeking the higher ground. Some on the roofs.
Rain. A day of rain.
I have been having a severe cold. But, this morning, despite my stuffed nose, the cold from my lover, I made it to work. And in great spirits. The rain washes the city, and like it has done now, removes all the stench of the diesel and petrol fumes. Makes me feel high.
I had to walk a kilometer or so to the taxi stand. Jumping puddles, aware of the few cars, dodging the bicycles. Luckily they were few. They seem to have this habit of seeking out the wettest patches to splash.
Got to the taxi stand relatively intact. My shoes are not as waterproof as I thought they were. So, feet wrapped in wet socks are my day’s companion. Not sure that I can take them off. My colleagues may mind, the stench, that is.
The ‘taxi’ ride? Ok. Our taxis are actually commuter vans. 14 seaters, (or so licensed), hopefully watertight. The one I entered was water tight. So we sat, all fifteen of us, as the driver drove away. In the thick preoccupied silence of seasoned commuters. Each a cocoon of misery, except me, that is.
I had the luck to be the last one in. Means on the seat supposed to seat 3, 4 sit. The ‘conductor’ crammed in besides me. It was morning (no underarm stench), and he was a cute guy, so I did not mind much. Though I was shoved up against a mighty broad lady. Joke!
The rain has washed away most of the traffic. The roads were relatively empty. Kampala jams occur after the rain lifts. Saw kids wet, like they’d just dunked in a pool. Was happy I was inside and warm, rather than out there walking to school, or work, or whatever.
Will it be a bad day?
Who knows. My nose is stuffy. And running. I am sniffling every few minutes. The day is overcast, and there is rain everywhere. The kind that will not stop till late in the afternoon, or in the night itself. Just like Easter day.
But I, I am alive, and living, and able to appreciate that fact of life.
Will it be a good day? Definitely! Have a good one too.