The Island...

~ I park beneath the Aspen tree that spills over the high, concrete retaining wall. Get out of my car and stand in the parking lot, nearly empty, breathing the damp, rain scented air. Droplets fall on my pad of paper and I feel that I could stay here forever.
Around me the sounds of traffic, behind me I hear a door open and a janitor beat the dust from a push broom. The droplets fall faster, bleeding the ink, wetting my hair. This should be uncomfortable. This should feel awkward.
The wind makes the branches above me, newly green with the fresh verdance of early summer, dip and sway. The Aspen, the touch of nature here, dances with the wind.
The rain falls harder.
The damp paper rues ink. ~
~ From the life of Renee