Summer started with a storm. The power left and the house darkened Rain drops hurled themselves against the windows.
The quarter ended. Nothing felt finished, failure scented the air with its rotten stank. Errands had to be done, but when I tried to type, the words would not come. I looked into the mirror, and what once seemed acceptable, now looked bloated and hideous. Not able to change my look nor my activity, I ran into the storm.
I ran with a vest, shorts and some paisley decorated rain boots. I ran in the darkness, closed my eyes and prayed. I ran blind, water rushing the the sides of my feet. Puddles threatening to flood my existence. I ran but my heart wouldn't beat. I felt cold and the Duwamish river surged. My skin felt transparent, pale and wrinkly as it soaked in the weather.
I ran to the north wind's weir. I prayed for a better world. I prayed for the salmon to come back. I ran to the bridge and looked in the river. The river swelled and stayed stagnant in torrid rain. I saw dark clouds of oil ooze from the depths, it's oily subsistence killing my existence, and I prayed. I prayed. I prayed. I prayed to gods that I did not understand.
http://www.burkemuseum.org/static/misc/story_north_wind_weir.pdf
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