The Day

It’s the kind of day for Miles…maybe some Flamenco Sketches. Or maybe Jets to Brazil, their mellow stuff. Good emo-shit with haunting chords and a raspy voice leaving its heart and guts all over the track.

It’s the kind of day where darkness settles and the sky could open up and drop bullfrogs on you…or…just a mellow drizzle that you can day-dream to, thinking optimistically about the water soaking deep in the soft earth, an underground well pooling for us to all draw strength from, at least once the sun shines…some day.

It’s a day to sit in an auditorium after class, music echoing in your ears, the smell of wet clothes and carpet wafting after all the students have left. Well, almost all the students. Someone could approach and ask, “You okay?” then smile, and you don’t feel sad or anything, actually, now you’re happy.

It’s a day for reading in a coffee shop, alone in public. Your book is amazing but you’re only half-involved cause your fellow humans are just so damn interesting and you don’t have an agenda, so whatever.

It’s a day where a bunch of people might just decide to get naked and run through the rain, screaming and hollering, refusing to be afraid. They certainly would be afraid, but their excitement is so loud they can’t hear anything besides their hearts pounding and their bare feet slapping on the ground.

It’s the kind of day where the kids’ squeals, dialogue, and laughter are constant background noise, their would-be-outside energy bubbling up through their pretend, inside play. It’s a day where you could be crazy-productive in this background banter and kick some serious Job Ass.

Or maybe it’s just a day. Dark, windy, and wet, but just a day. You’re inside looking out and none of it has any affect at all.