I have a huge appreciation for this moment, ice water, and heat. Old wooden crates. Typewriters and ink. Tattoos inching in hyper-detailed increments down a twenty-year old back. Hot sauce, hollandaise and horseradish cheese.
I feel minutes like this creeping just out of sight, where the peripheral sneaks off behind and away. Fleeting, they call it, like a glimpse of something imperfect enough to be just the right kind of beautiful.
Today is the summer solstice–a series of moments layered one atop another, stretching light between dawn and eve so far as they might break from one another, snapping clean off, and in need of a mend. Maybe this is how every day breaks from the others, along a perforated line at midnight in God’s back pocket.
And God, or Gods, or Goddess, or Goddesses–You are singing today with the high wind shrieking, a tantrum of Nature, while we move from house to house, forgetting you in the grass and high energy spectrum of our own immediate lives.
You are too much for us to eat and drink. Too fast you fill us with your own hot breath. If we notice you noticing us, we flush pink to red, burning in our embarrassment that we weren’t doing something better with our time than changing the sheets or feeding our own need to be heard.