I am sitting in Los Angeles at the moment, watching the raindrops fall outside my bedroom window. They remind me of the millions of souls wandering the LA streets, dropping their footsteps to the ground, leaving an imprint that will disappear moments later.
I used to like rain. I used to think it was the blood of nature, visiting the cities around the world a few times each year, revitalizing them with its purity. I’d watch the water puddle, then disappear as the trees soaked up new life. I used to think like that, but no longer. Now rain is cold, more dense, driving its force through the streets, overwhelming the populations on which it descends.
The floodwaters are beginning to rise here. One can almost sense the pressure building as the riverbanks try to retain the flow. It is like this all over the nation now. Pressure. We are a nation trying to keep our heads above water, terrified of drowning in the dire straits of financial decay.
The rain pours harder. The water deepens. We reach our heads up and open our mouths, praying someone will hear our screams, hoping for sanctuary from the swirling currents of poverty and despair. I look around and see others treading wildly, willing to succumb to the waters, if only to gain a moment of air for their children whom they hold overhead. They are protecting the future, if only for the moment. Still, the rain comes down. I hold you, my diary, to the air, praying my words will find safety in the hands of some future soul, one dedicated to…I cannte se…the paje…the wautur..(cough cough)… izzz 2 dep.