mlle. h. bean

The Heartbroken Macchiato

Actually, that title means nothing and this is not a story about a poor little shot of espresso with foam on top, but it popped into my head as this window popped open, so I felt it deserved to at least be written down.

Things do that, they transmogrify into other things in my head, like phrases that I see on signs or wherever. Like my map of BC that also bills itself as a "nature spotter"--one day I looked at it and it said "Natural Sphincter". Some don't make any sense, like the ad that said "Do you rent or own?" that looked like "Do you eat lipstick?"

***

Sometime during the day the sky began to cloud over and by around 2 I felt like I was in an underwater cave, because of the light quality. You could feel all the moisture in the air tensing up, getting ready for the coming snow. The mountains were draped in random bits of grey cloud, like some modern fashion model, in torn scarves. The peaks looked like watercolor paintings, all vague in black and white, none of the sharp outlines of the day before, which had been rendered in shades of blue and blue-white. As I walked up the hill from the bus stop I heard a long low rumbling, distant, but not like the avalanche bombs they do sometimes, which sound like you're inside a bass drum. This sound, combined with the grey snow-apprehension quality of the air around me, made me feel like I was under the sea, couldn't see more than 100 ft in either direction, was scuttling along like a tired crab.

So. We shall see what the night brings.