Tuesday Afternoon Weather Report

The clouds pile up against the mountains until they become mountains themselves. The blue sky comforts me on this May afternoon. But the wind, which today is cold, not hot, I find unforgiving. I foist words onto natural phenomena, practicing anthropormorphism with abandon. Trees scratch at my windows as if they want in. The neighbor's wind chimes call me toward something, but what? I ignore, but they keep calling.

Comfort. Forgiveness. Wanting. These are words for the day you tell your boyfriend you can no longer care for him at your house. You explain that you cannot be the day nurse and the night nurse. That you never wanted to be a nurse at all. That you know nothing of what you need to know. That crisis hovers in the corner by the bed where he sleeps and that you see its hungry eye on him.

You know love. You know fresh green juice. You know the numbers 9-1-1. You know that clouds are not mountains and that sky and the wind care nothing for anyone.