The morning looks innocent, the palest of blues behind the silhouette of leaves. For just this reason I linger. Well, that's not exactly true. It's the birds too, the light on light before streetlamps fade. It is the transformation of green. A neighbor's cat who likes to explore before the humming begins. He, like me, seems to attach an importance to this part of the day.
Maybe also like me he knows the importance of this part of the day during this time of the year.
Though I know we must live in the present with the understanding the past is done and the future holds no promises, this morning is all that much more important 'cause the past has taught me what noon will bring. It has happened before and will again. There are patterns here with few exceptions to this rule. Right now is the first of August and I live in Mississippi.
Fry an egg on asphalt. Oppressive heat with an air so thick moisture sticks and then slides down your face, your neck, your back. Give me cold water, put lots of ice in that sweet tea. Let's just go lay in the creek. This is when you pray for the people who roof and mow and don't have one of those fancy contraptions which makes the air cold.
I know your place could be warmer, but it's August first and on this celebrated day I allow myself to complain more, constantly, get it all out, jump into the neighbor's sprinkler and raise my fists to the sky,
Why? Oh why?
I promise to appreciate every moment of Autumn.
Mama said you never make deals with God but I like to take August first as some kind of secret bargaining time. I don't know if you've noticed but all descriptions I've heard of hell include heat.
Today no matter how much I bitch I will sincerely end each conversation with I am so very grateful for air conditioning.