Forecast

The weather this morning was rather strange. The sky was meekly overcast with light grey clouds. Not full enough to saturate they confused whether to wet the space or not. They wept without conviction dampening the already humid space. Bulky with water, the air trapped within the earth and the clouds wouldn't move unless you did. The trees were still. Noises on the street dampened. A stable body perspired, a moving body felt cold. The sun was present in the evaporating heat and fuzzy light. The holes from the clouds framed the remains of a clear sky.

The roads were unusually choked for the morning. The air filled with cement dust of the ongoing metro construction settled slowly on the bathed pores of the body sitting against the bus window producing a surface of irritation. The bus felt full inspite of a handful passengers. One felt constricted inspite of being in release. A strange weariness crept in discouraging the promise of the day ahead.

Unclear of intent, an uneasiness began to carve space by involuntarily clearing people on the way. A sharp annoyance made way through a body coated with the confused condition of the weather. Nothing spoken, yet everything expressed and subject to a universal space that perhaps accommodated so many more morning irritations. The sky continues to be daubed by grey clouds. Trees droop in still air. We all wait for movement.