(no subject)
The smell of summer, heavy, warm lumber and hot air drifting in the window, leaves and dirt smell slightly damp from the morning’s rain, and wafting, greeted me with a gust as I came upstairs to my attic abode.
I wait all year for this. The long afternoon and everlasting light is the thing. Soon, the hushed hum of katydids and cicadas (not yet), the white noise and comfort of air in my face from a fan. God, I love having a fan on me. That was dusk.
Feelings of longing and desire make themselves known.
This morning, it was a perfect summer morning Sunday. Already very warm at 8:00 am, it’s now 82 up in my room, in the shade. The sound of weed whackers and lawnmowers, birdies singing everywhere. I listen to these sounds for most of the day, not wanting to interrupt the purity with any thing else.
I wait all year for this. The long afternoon and everlasting light is the thing. Soon, the hushed hum of katydids and cicadas (not yet), the white noise and comfort of air in my face from a fan. God, I love having a fan on me. That was dusk.
Feelings of longing and desire make themselves known.
This morning, it was a perfect summer morning Sunday. Already very warm at 8:00 am, it’s now 82 up in my room, in the shade. The sound of weed whackers and lawnmowers, birdies singing everywhere. I listen to these sounds for most of the day, not wanting to interrupt the purity with any thing else.