Tuesday, January 29, 2008

613. Not a mystical post

Every moment you're alive and breathing and can see light and hear music is a miracle. But some days, like today, are just days, not particularly beautiful, not bad by any standard, and then you find yourself at the end of the food chain of everyone else's truly bad day and forget about the miraculous part. But as soon as I got to my Hebrew class this evening, where we learned about the Masoretes and the Aleppo Codex and I discovered more words I recognized from sometime before, way deep in my cells, which had sat forever waiting to be unlocked by the magical key of verb forms--as soon as the act of learning woke me up--I realized I had no right to be annoyed.

I got in the the subway to go home, and when I emerged discovered it had rained in those fifteen minutes. The streets were slick and shiny and smelled of Chinese food, buses, and puddles in which children and dogs would jump tomorrow morning. I had a sudden desire to eat fruit, which always reminds me of springtime. I went into the deli and bought big chunks of pineapple, and pretended that the rain had transformed the entire city into something new.

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