The nights are growing longer and the days hotter. The summer has taken it’s hold of the landscape, the sunflowers and tall grasses are beginning to dry out and collapse into the brittle earth.
It was an amazingly wet season for Texas, but now those green valleys are fading into brown, baby birds are growing out of their cottony plumage, and lining up ready for flight, leaving behind empty nests. The cicada’s song is becoming forlorn and dier.
My skin is red and damp from the sunlight, even for the shortest jaunts.
But that’s alright.
It doesn’t bother me a bit.
I think I have a soul made for summer. The summer melts away whatever was left of a winter depression, leaving me mended and restful. For the first time in a long time I’m in a place where I’m actively learning, taking everything anew, not just waiting for the days to end in somber reflection.
That’s not to say I’m not feeling anxious. Sometimes I feel a thousand years old, sometimes it’s as though I can feel the years hanging from the skin beneath my eyes. I feel perpetually heavy, endlessly searching for lightness, for air, for room to breath.
I’m trying to find that one gust of wind to lift me passed this rut, but the summer air is stagnant, so I’ll wait, patiently, for that one sweeping breeze….