I didn't go to washington last night. That was last week when I drove through the cascades loving the rain blackened road with the yellow stripes popping off and tearing away into the green hills. No, it's not actually true what they say. It is the opposite of gray. The closest real cloud color would be a very deep periwinkle sort of like the ceiling of the room in SF that I moved into. It was like a storm cloud. And it was not gray.
I could have watched those pacific northwest clouds wrap their arms around the sharp edges of the mountain in Mount Eerie's video for days. These wet pieces of sky obscuring what the person behind the lens was trying to see and making it (not) gray and emotional, them moving in, them moving on, them making it almost too beautiful to look at. I tried to breathe deep into my belly to see if I felt connected. To myself or more importantly the person in front of me. No, I mean, of course to myself but instead I thought this thought: How could you know me, if you don't know this scene? The dampness and the electric display of moisture, loving and hating it, feeling it in the way you feel everything. How can I know you if I don't know florida, or western mass, or denver, or a flat housed neighborhood and peet's coffee in walnut creek?
Today I put on some cherry red high heels bought deliberately one day I knew I needed to enhance my sense of power through footwear. I thought these are very emotional high heels. What I meant to think was, I'm a little homesick.