Morning Commute

Today at 8:20, I looked around and admired the beauty and poetry in the morning commute in the rain.

I know it was windy and disgusting, but I found simple pleasures in the colors of umbrellas bouncing up and down, or the dance that everyone was forced to do when the wind cradled the umbrellas, fabricating a forced waltz between man and his invisible partner.

I watched as with every block closer to the station, the masses gathered. I thought to myself, "These huddled masses that New York took in, they were not huddled until rush hour."

I even let my umbrella down to enjoy the splash of water on my face.

Then my commute took an hour instead of a half-hour, and at 9:20, the poetry was gone and I was late.