Pumps and Loafers

Okay, almost a month later and the same opening remarks. And I am sitting here at Commencement, unable to open my eyes against the fog and the parched white sky. The grass underfoot sleeps stuck together in fat, wet clumps, matted into a soft carpet by trains of pumps and loafers.

Blue and white balloons hang like dots on invisible strings... confetti over the small capped crowd... while everyone pats himself on the back...

And as the sun fades in the already spotless sky, my eyes can relax and I stare at the crisp London tip of Riverside Church and think of Monet.

And I hate this and dread the motion of time, although I am desperately ready for something new and my stomach hangs empty against my spinning head... this is reform. The sky is so threatening today and I can just imagine this ink bleeding and running off the stage.

And someone has released the balloons into the sky and they float away into the blankness to the place of a spoken word. It makes me realize that the sky is not blank at all, but rather it is full and thick with crowds.