Friday, July 29, 2011
Cirque du Soleil
Like Liesl Von Rhuman following the spring, my flight followed the morning sun.
Departing a stormy Manila in the pitch-black wee hours, a majestic Arabian sun greeted us in Abu Dhabi, from whence we followed it across the sky as ancient Egyptians followed Ra. We blazed a trail through the Middle East, chasing the morning sun as it crossed over into Europe. From there, it transformed into Apollo downshifting his chariot of fire into a lazy Parisian afternoon.
A lovely, sun-dappled Gallic summer afternoon which quickly became overshadowed by torrential rains that came out of nowhere. Heavy, punitive droplets of icy fury descended upon us with cold, pitiless vengeance the moment we alighted the airport shuttle, slicing us like liquid razors as we scurried like shivering rats to the hotel.
And after the drenching, the radiant sun smiled once more in the late afternoon like a benevolent - if mocking - Louis XIV enveloping Versailles with his royal luminance. A brilliance and warmth that was shortly and finally eclipsed by thundering gray and angry storm clouds that molded the remains of the day into an Ingmar Bergman movie.
There's a story about circles and cycles in all of this somewhere. I'm just too tired to see it right now.