A SOFT DRIZZLE FALLS

A soft drizzle falls. The last of the oranges and grapefruits are dropping from the trees. There are days when there's no prettier place than the Rio Grande Valley. These days may be coming to an end as the population growth devours the countryside, but I'm not much for social commentary.

I prefer the depths of the soul although I don't plunge too deep. I'm so involved living my shallow existence that I lack the wherewithal to ponder the mysteries and arrive at a understanding that might give me peace. I am too filled with lusts. I am a sinner, not a saint.

Nothing brings me greater tranquility than the rain. Rain is more poetic than music. I hear iambic pentameter as that steady, melodious beat evokes memories "most melancholy in nature" as Longfellow once wrote.

I'm drinking a rioja and smoking  a cigarette. I love all vices and have grown fond of nicotine's rush.

A friend divorcing interrupts my thoughts. While nobody is shocked by couples calling it quits, this split wasn't anticipated. He is bailing. He must have fallen in love. There would be no other reason to leave one's family.

My heart has been skipping a few beats lately. I hope I don't drop dead of cardiac arrest in the near future, but my days are numbered. This realization has affected my attitude, but I'm not sure if the changes will be positive or negative. Before I finish the glass, I'll smoke another cigarette. I refuse to deny myself the excitement of self-indulgence.