Rain Above

“Rain above”

My heart is filled on a full moon. 

I was taken aback by the serendipity of my gratefulness to others. 

The quiet whistle and happy frowns of my loving roommates cause me to wonder.  

Maybe they are mystified by the height of the Cuyamacas. 

I silently said to myself!

From the cold refreshing pacific, dawn to the humid desert, this greenness in the dry is alluding. Panting in despair, I struggle my way to the bus stop in these hills.

 

Grappling in diagnosis, I digress from passion to crucifixion, hoping that the clouds would bless me with a drip of water. I finally made my way on the bus, faced with a middle-aged Hispanic female driver. Maybe not, but I am certain of her brown eyes and thick accent.

Would you like to purchase a compass? She asked. In a ruff but smooth voice. A single ride I rode for the day. I was triggered by the intriguing physique of this elderly woman. She starts the engine in such a fashion and precision. 

I tried to imagine a bachata session with her. Probably not! I said aloud to myself, in a frightened tone. After multiples stop, my mind was a hopeful jumble, yet I kept humble. Finally, the bus arrived. 

This is Cuyamaca, something “behind the clouds”.