Thursday, April 26, 2012

Walk: rainy spring night

It was raining as I walked home tonight. Not very heavy, rather gentle and soft. I had a nice sweatshirt with a deep hood, so I was comfortable. I had asked that the sky be kind to me, and it was. I walk quickly; I'm always cautious at the end of the day, in my dark neighborhood, except with the low clouds reflecting the city's light, the sky was orange. Oakland smelled alternately like lake and fish, like pot and exhaust, and then the clean scent of the rain itself. Coming out of the gardens onto the sidewalk, were small, beautiful, grotesque snails. I love snails. They are a part of this neighborhood, and when it rains in the spring, the sidewalks are full of them. It actually can be difficult to not squash them. The ones that don't make it are really disturbing sights. I don't mean to be morbid, but the reality of death is felt keenly when you look under your shoe and realize you're not sure if you were the first or just the last person to step on that particular creature. Every snail is alive. This isn't a vegetarian ranting about escargot, this is a human being talking about the value of life. I took care not to stomp any shell-baring creatures tonight. They literally covered parts on the walkway, and I was not wearing my glasses, so every rock and piece of bark that lay on the ground were carefully avoided. I knew that by slowing down and paying attention to my steps, I could prevent unnecessary harm. I knew also that I was by myself, alone, at night, carrying some valuables and cash. Beyond both of those points, I knew I was safe. I walked with Artemis, and She wanted me to see the snails; their unique colors and shapes, the relative speed with which they move, the strange and expert way they've found a niche in this urban forest.