These days are the thickest days, enveloping all my body. Water vapor from a steaming pot all around me lingering and curling around my elbows and calves, neck and hairline.
My brain, for the last two days, has felt the same way. Full of mucus from a cold, words directed at me slosh in my ears. My head is as foggy as the day and feels like it could be tipped over like a weight in a pool in the hot, wet afternoon.
Emily Dickinson poems on a picnic blanket undulated in thick air in the August afternoon with Brie and chocolate and my boy by my side.
August afternoons could be hateful and confusing afternoons, full of shifting legs, furrowed brows, and wet backs. But thick heads in August are peaceful to me. My disorientation is absorbed in a sense of pleasure that transcends all weather and sickness. The lazy days are as cumbersome but delicious as eating a sweet, drippy peach.
Well if you enjoy that feeling, disregard. But, you should consider taking a shot of whiskey. It clears the sinuses like nothing else.
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