Thoughts from the porch…

Thoughts from the porch…

desert under yellow sunset
Photo by Fabio Partenheimer on

(that thing I do) …and the strange summer continues, the singular perfume of coppertone replaced with the stark drying reality of hand sanitizer, as of late the humidity and heat bear more of a resemblance to late summer, and these hazy hot days have strung together like an oppressive archipelago stretched across an ocean ring of fire’s back, all in the cast net of my immediate sight and sense seem worn down, the world knows that only needed effort be spent, anything above that red line will be savaged drowned in sweat and drained out with haste, like a sudden plug at the bottom of a lake pulled, like in a bathtub, downward down, spirals and gone, to the last drop, even sound can not bear the weight, there are a few, creatures here and there, wise asses, singing from within shadows fronting proud, but no brazen chasing from branch to branch, no courting, romance or anything other than rest and wait, the first ambassadors of summer, the fireflies have come,  admire and rejoice in their strange shows, there is no Broadway you know, I wonder what I would do if I could flash a bio-luminescent part of my body, I would hope to have control when off it went, even the pages of my journal are moist after a few minutes out this evening, paper sweat, unfortunately this does not make my words more salient or have more depth, I wish I could hear the purrs of the clouds, for surely they are doing so, sun on their backs, casually rolling through the darkening azure path, rubbing the corners of their mouths on the horizon bent, nothing on their agenda tonight, except to simply be, stretched out for miles like mountains, motion barely perceptible like dreams sleeping in the deep oceans unseen, I see leaves moving, bobbing side to side, and yet I feel no breeze, just this stifling brick cocoon of moist heat, barely evaporating off me even as an hour or more passes, not so long now I will retire back to my man made shelter, with the control of the weather at my fingertips, and then might straighten right up like a parched flower placed in a vase of purest water, and bloom again – for at least some hours.

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