Before I moved to Des Moines, rain was the most ephemeral thing I knew. Wyoming rain lasts about 13 minutes. (It can’t even make a whole quarter hour.) Little did I know. Real rain is NOT fleeting. Rivers (Tiber-esque rivers, people) were running down the street outside my apartment. I had to precariously jump over puddles with my 39-pound, pink-striped Andy Warhol Campbell’s soup can bag. And let me tell you, that is not easy to do and keep your shoes dry. And if it’s the first time you’ve worn them, you’re just one unlucky sonofabitch.

But actually, I loved it. Rain is still a novelty for me. I love waking up to an overcast sky and getting water on my rain shoes and umbrella. And the best part was this was not ordinary rain. It was warm rain. The BEST for standing in, running in, dancing in, etceraing in. I’m sad it’s over. But such is the nature of an ephemerism.

This blog is a collection of ephemerisms. Short-lived things that kill with their sheer awesomeness. Like rain, obvi (ew. I solemnly swear never to use “obvi” in a sentence ever again. So temporary.) I’m fascinated by the temporary. The most beautiful things are those we try to save –

Yawn, cheesefest. Done and done. It’s total crap when you have to explain your point. So just believe me when I say I have one. A point, that is. It’s probably short and sweet and cynical. But then again, everything’s made up and the points don’t matter are like rain. Ephemeral.

[image via dryicons]

Advertisements