“Devil’s beating his wife”
Got a couple of Virgo’s who need some good news. Happy birthday. Dude.
This week’s scopes were written at a time when I was trying to delicately balance the onerous weight of war, retribution and justice against writing about news that’s hopefully uplifting and happy. More or less. As happy as anyone can be when the planets are in evil disarray.
It was my second trip to the post office, and I was sure that I had everything right, this time around. I had two pieces of paper that needed to go to Sister, overnight. Plus, her schedule, she’s got one performance ongoing, and she’s in rehearsal for two more shows, one of which, as I understand it, isn’t even written yet.
So, to make it easier, I dropped a “self-addressed, stamped envelope” back in the package. I’m not sure, but it was worth a try.
Looked like a bright morning, then it turned sour, then it rained. Right after I left the post office. The clerk, I was joking with the guy, he claimed he washed his car that very morning, so I knew I could pin the rain on him. I stepped outside, shrugged out of my shirt, and started back down towards the river. Just in time for the downpour.
I had this urge to call someone, just about anyone, while I was watching the rain come down, with sunlight beaming all around me. I was standing under big tree in Republic Square, fighting the urge to just call someone, anyone.
Vague recollections from the day, as I was going to head over to the creek until I got thoroughly soaked by the sudden downpour: the smell of rain about to happen, the sudden steamy feeling as soon as the rain lets up, seeing a dry route through the rain, alongside a parking garage.
Watching as the streaming rain came down through a series of gutters from the street, where the trail passes alongside Shoal Creek.
By the time I reached the far side of the pedestrian bridge, though, the rain had pretty much stopped. Sister wasn’t out of rehearsal yet, so I couldn’t call and alert her to incoming package and contents.
There was a cadre of “economically challenged” males ambling along a side street, happy the rain let up.. They let out a decent “hello,” and one of them gestured, “It’s my birthday!” Then he held up a soggy cardboard sign, “Traveling through, need help, it’s my birthday, god bless!”
