thoughts from the porch…

thoughts from the porch…

wayfarer sunglasses on sand tilt shift lens photography
Photo by Fabio Partenheimer on

damn the heat, sitting here, stewing like potted meat, my legs are pincushions, feeding stations, they look like shot up road signs in rural locations (for those unfamiliar there is a tradition of shooting at signs out in the sticks, hey it can be boring out there), but I want to soak in the last lines of light tonight anyway, knowing (well always hoping) that the next day will come, but I certainly do not want to let this one go, not yet, sticking to shade today did not dissuade the helter swelter, but the recent tropical storm left a mess, nothing major thanks, but still lots of limbs and branches to gather once I cleared the obvious big ones post event, and yet other ones to cull and cut, I’m not a professional landscaper but perhaps I could play one on TV, probably not a good idea for a TV show, not even on DYI network now that I think about it, so there I was melting, as the summer sun can do to you, even by convection baking, taking my time, stopping for breaks, wondering why my water did not get cold enough so I put a bottle in the freezer, sure to forget and find an ice block later, but then, in moments gathered, like a sponge realizing it’s purpose,  akin to soaking in, I would stand there in the middle of my driveway, lookup skyward high, and admire the immediate warmth I could focus, staring at the sun directly with my eyes quite closed, but I can still see that heat seeking globe, more orange and red penetrating through my downed garage door eyelids, how good the warmth feels, like getting near a fire just close enough, just far enough, to not be burnt, that satisfying glow, as all your outer layer is exposed and rises, at first from outer and then from the inside, reflection of radiation radiating, pulsing, like a breath exchange, in and out – in and out, like symmetrical twin-couplet waves never crashing just as if a buoy on the eternal ocean rising and falling in perfect calm increments, breathing up and down, the warming sensation on my face until I sense the intensity nearing a red line, or a burn, so I turn and go back about my business, or nonsense, somewhat satisfied, charged, with light, and the warmth that has fueled life itself, I sweat more in the toil in the shade than in that moment, and the energy is drained, quickly, little twinges in my back, here and there, remind me of my age, my limits, I’m not confined to ancient stock, not yet, but perhaps closer to that than the indomitable spirit of childhood or even early manhood, the middle ages were not the best times for man, perhaps this is true for now, for me, who knows, I can only be me, anything else would be delusion, although many might have tried that particular path myself included, but today I am just me, sitting here, worldly duties fulfilled, the silent and not so contract with my neighbors filled (property values are an underlying strong current in this urban sport), my prize, sitting for a moment to glare off at the fire bitten clouds, watch the sun slowly sink down, the week’s end, back to the grind of work in the morning, but I must remain armed, armed with these soft moments, energy spent, sweat, sweat around my neck and down my back, all sorts of the insect world half bent at taking turns at my epidermal spigot, so I let them have at it, maybe I will itch to a bleed later, but for now, I just want to sip in this sun, the fading rays of waning summer days, for they are life, best to charge up now when things are bright, like the land, to be ripe in fall and be prepared to sleep and dream of days, days like this when the sun draws into the night and the cold, the cold is just a tale on days like this.

notes: part of my porch series ya’ silly goose, it varies by times of year of course….

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