Morning fog, misty tree tops, narrow path with a fallen tree log, --yesterday, there's a storm. More rains here in New Jersey almost every other day. Sometimes it's a whole day of little drops saturating the air. Why can't be more rain in the Steppe, where my Mongolian ancestors roam their horses? Why can't be more rain in Sahara, or any place with droughts? The damp air reminds me of a time long ago, a place so far away and so near, a season so wet that it's called "mold rain days". The clothes feel clammy not because of sweat, the shoes a little sticky, the air dewy, the hair flat no matter what you do with it.
In The Morning
Published
Haoyan Do 