Thunderclap

This was true (when I wrote it yesterday) and so I had to write about it.

It rained in Palo Alto last night; for the first time since the winter. But before the drops fell from the sky, the sunset illuminated a rainbow of the sort that you usually only see in children’s books – from horizon to horizon, every bright color represented, with a ghost as strong as most rainbows I’ve ever seen. The sky was twelve kinds of beautiful – bright blue, orange clouds at sunset, two (or four, depending on how you counted) rainbows…

And then it rained; just a few drops but nonetheless signifying the benevolence of the heavens.

It was a good omen.

But seriously; it's the dry season and according to the leasing agent it hasn't rained in "forever". So I was very happy when, the day I signed my lease, it rained in the evening. Also, I have three additional drabbles I wrote; whoop!

Inspired by "Obeisance", the word of the day a few days ago:

“It is amazing,” Madame Montmercy condescended, “how much one can convey with a simple gesture.” She cleared her throat, bringing her students to attention.

“By bowing one’s head and giving a quick low bob, one conveys humility.” As she sunk to the ground, Madame indeed looked shy. “Making a show of it shows boastfulness or vanity,” and as she waved her arms in an elaborate obeisance, Madame looked even more confident than usual. Rising from her curtsy, she surveyed the mostly impressed students. “Any questions?”

Sophie spoke up. “How does one show that one thinks this whole thing is idiotic?”

And another!

Matthew’s parents were bears. Or perhaps not bears as such, but were-bears; they turned to bears as they slept. He could hear them growling in their bedroom every night, roaring huskily like bears on television. At first he was afraid, but they always turned back in the morning so he accustomed himself to it. Some people’s parents stayed up all night, some snored. His turned into bears.

He wondered if he turned into an animal at night; but if he did he never noticed.

And he learned to deal with nightmares himself very young. It was that or be eaten.

And another, inspired by the book I just finished (The Enchantress of Florence, by Salman Rushdie), which has several rather Pygmalion-like twists.

The problem other people had, Henry reasoned, was a sort of foolish sentimentality that at once attached them to their fantasies and allowed them to envision a better world than this one.

Henry Wallace had never had that much imagination, so he announced bravely that he wouldn’t fall into any such “Pygmalion Paradox”.

Words like that have a way of catching up with one, and Henry soon found that even his mundane mind fell prey to the sort of melancholy he so readily dismissed.

After all, once you have created the perfect companion, how can you live happily without her?

I would have posted these when I wrote them (read: earlier), but I do not have internet in my apartment yet. I'm working on that.