Sticky Days

I’m stuck today.

Stuck somewhere between the light of the sun and the shade thrown by the trees. I don’t know any other way to describe it. My mind and my eye keep wandering there, to that in-between place, and I can’t pull a thought back out.

I briefly toyed with the idea of writing about pain and joy as creative motivators by my heart is not in it. Instead, my heart is focusing on the chirping of a bird and the color of the light, the angle of the shadows and the idea of how the kiss of the breeze would feel against my skin.

I suppose you could classify that as a longing for the outdoors, but under the chirping bird I hear the buzz of bees and the drone of mosquitos, and I can tell you that I am quite content inside.

It’s just one of those days.

It feels sticky, but not in that hot and humid way that the Northeast is so infamous for, and with the summer coming, I really should get outside before the air becomes heavy and close. I know those days. The heat holds itself close to you, clinging to every nook of your body, and a single swell of sweat will grow into a puddle and then a lake before you can blink twice. It’s impossible to think on those days. Your brain gets clogged, and you have to retreat to the shelter of the air conditioning if you ever want to see a single coherent thought.

Today is a forewarning of those days. The humidity has not crept in yet, but the slant of the light and the slippery track of the sun promise that it’s coming. There’s not much to do on these days except breathe in and out, try and fail to focus, and lose yourself all over again in the space between the sunlight and the shadows.

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