Cinnamon Rain
The storm hit hard and fast. Unlike the usual tantrums spawned from the bitchiness of our Mother’s nature, it dropped down from straight up North. Not from the face of the big lake over to the West. The more affluent side of a mittened madness, holding all the bigger monies. And for all I know, opportunities. The brunt of the rain was ignored with typical ramp attitude ambivalence. Because when work boots meet the tarmac, there isn’t any choice of shelter other than forced indifference. Often all we can do is turn exposed backs to the wind during momentary pauses in the chaotic operation feeding the big tin monster. Zipping up everything that can possibly be zipped. Ignoring the water soaking through waterproof everythings—because nothing is …
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