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THE FEEL by Philip Gross Simple raindrops on glass, now, seem to know what to do, every drop sensing how to be white against grey sky or dark against whitewash - as easy as, look, chuck a gull or three up in the wind and swirl, you'd think at random, and they're off, with that quizzical arch of the wing, the slightest wobble just getting the camber, as a cyclist leans. Not like our first-and-last once on a rented tandem: honeymoon- bold, we went down slap every turn till we lay by each other and glared, not understanding why the road wouldn't work (we'd each tried to do all the balancing) or if we'd ever get the feel. © Philip Gross « Home | Contributor Notes » |
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