118th st / 119th st / 121st st / 122nd st

6.74 miles

i woke up to the jackhammering of construction today. loneliness— no, aloneness— settled in, my family gone back home after a whirlwind weekend in this city i love. i learned a new word recently: petrichor, the smell of rain on soil.

no petrichor today, only rain on concrete, rain heaving onto streets as i trudge— no, leap— in blue rainboots and yellow rain jacket, under my red umbrella. i’ve avoided walking in the rain for most of this year, avoided snow, scorching sun. no longer is there time for such delay, yet the fall of rain is soothing. i call my mom for part of this walk.

the sights and other senses observed today are wet, wet, wet: lee lee’s bakery; a mumbling babe; the burned pages of a book set open on a stoop; a man with shoulders broader than his umbrella, runnign away from the downpour; a flash of light, a thunderous growl; the elegance of harlem brownstones; the scent of crushed flowers, yellow turning brown on the pavement; la casita community garden and a pureto rican flag; white pigeons; music on a corner and men in folding chairs; white people leaving brownstones; black people leaving brownstones; two soaked mattresses on the sidewalk; a tea egg wall; three old televisions; marcus garvey park, a kind man directing me to the park’s exit; light green tipped trees; a wizened construction worker; sunflowers; a giant ant;

the rumble of thunder, followed by the patter of rain.

i never finished listening to obama’s audiobook, though my patience for podcasts has grown over the year. today, i become immersed in americanah by chimamanda ngozi adichie, another book i forgot to finish, and aloud the prose is striking.