Windless

First night of the summer season tonight, and it finds me well enough; awake and glistening with sweat at three in the morning, with a rickety fan spreading the humid night air around my room. It’s the first night I’ve been able to step outside, perfectly comfortable, in shorts and a T-Shirt…or nothing at all, if I so desired. Balmy. Perfectly so. These nights always come with very special feelings that are particular to them. Feelings and memories– or memories of feeling– or feelings of memories, it’s hard to say exactly…but it’s a reminder that sometimes the great outdoors– no, nature– no, life itself can actually care for you; embrace you; look after you. The air wraps around your skin like some kind of heavenly smoke; the type of which might be generated by a large raging fire build of flowers, and dreams, and memories of sidewalks and grass. The first touch is pleasant, but it doesn’t last…the air sticks to the skin in sheets, eventually; so calm and motionless that it’s maddening. The wind should be blowing…why won’t it? I must flee in order to make it feel so, so flee I do; away from my home, away from my town, away from my entire world– driven wild, up, and out– far far away from grass, sidewalks, and fond memories of moonlit promises not to be kept.