Separate worlds this morning, just as winter snow remains outdoors. Wake up in dark cool familiarity. Take my coffee cup outside the kitchen door into another world. Sitting on the back step, even breaths are different; heavy, close with humid air drawn in and out in shallow bits of the place outside my home. Birds fly slowly, it would seem. Blades of grass do not stir but plan to sleep, I think, throughout the heat of day. It is quiet too; no leaf to rustle in a breeze.
I go back in to seek and find the fraud of comfort, the air conditioned noise.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Hummmmm. Perhaps a cool glass of lemonade and someone elses book might help…in the sahe of coarse. I send escape thoughts :-}