A return of long afternoons. Measured in not minutes, but breaths. The excited din of tree-boughs, polyphonic with laboring lungs. A world streaked with salt and sweat. Hands that have grown soft in the winter. The gratitude in gasping, and of being able to do so. So secret and rare in the throats of the middle-aged and elderly. Bathing in the snowmelt currents during sunset. Everything feeling precisely warm, and lighter-than-it-should. The relieved drunkeness of exertion. For a little while.
4:38 p.m. - 2021-03-03
Recent entries:
There Was Never Anything - 2021-03-17
From Across the Oceans - 2021-03-17
Uninspirational - 2021-03-11
A Cold Spring Day - 2021-03-11
Quit Breathing - 2021-03-03
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