Paris' Pushy Wind and Pussy Rain

🦋 Paris’s Pushy Wind and Pussy Rain

The canal today is like the sea. 

Seabirds struggle to fly against the wind. 

Men feel like their dogs are walking faster today. 

Everything is flying: the fallen leaves, the white birds. 

Even the sun itself cannot help but push its rays onto the ground. 

Women are making their baby carriages with babies inside who aren’t aware of the wind but seem to be mindful of the plastic bags that are being blown and pressed against the wall. 

My thin black skirt is dancing with the wind. It makes me feel sinful to wear a skirt on a day like this. But that’s what thrills us in a world like this. 

Following the pushy wind comes the pussy rain. 

I call it “pussy” because it gives you a sense of wetness, stickiness, and yet you feel comfortable with it. And hence, pussy rain. 

Even the sound of the rain matches perfectly with the term itself: pussssssssssssssssiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

It’s raining. 

And hence, pussy-ing.

In order not to wet myself, I walked into a cafe. 

I chose a corner seat that is next to a big cactus plant. 

The cactuses have some winter hats on them. So lovely! And I like the paradox that exists between the summer cactus and the winter rain. 

I’ll go back to the cafe again for that cactus and the hot chocolate. 

They warm me up both psychologically and physically.