I was coming home from Morgan State University one day this week when a spontaneous conversation made me think about how omnipresent literature really is.
No sooner had I climbed into the taxi cab that had arrived when a sudden summer storm started. The sky had turned overcast in an instant and the enormous splashes of rain that were too big to be called drops hit the windshield mercilessly.
“I love the rain,” the driver said. “It’s so poetic and romantic,” he continued. Then he paused and said, “Not everyone feels the weather.”
Remembering that I had recently drafted a poem along those lines, I had to agree that the weather could be very inspirational.
“What about snow?”
“A little is good, but not too much,” the driver answered.
“A dusting,” I thought.
The symbolic implications are endless.