constantly, consistently cold, the tips of my fingers shaking
I retreat to the sun outside for an hour, just to revive
quite sure that this is not the best way to work
under a flourescence that does nothing to warm
and struggles to provide light.
Within 10 minutes of sitting back down at my desk
I start aching again, hands/feet/back/legs…
I need to get out more, get sun into my skin
this is the first summer I have spent so much of the day
indoors, and my southern soul yearns to feel that touch.
I remember when summers lasted forever
(don’t we all?)
I would curl up on the brown carpet in a patch of sun
(like those lizards we used to catch) and fall asleep.
There are pictures of me dreaming in the long grass,
in the patch of sun between trees.
Speaking of sleep, do you remember when Leonor Dely sang to us
in Spanish the words of God,
and even in a language I can’t understand
I fell asleep on a couch by a fire
because prayers have that effect on me.
(only eight months have gone by?)
When I stepped outside today the wind blew against me
stopped me in my half-taken step against cracked pavement
because I was taken back to a thousand memories
summer in a million places and times
every window in the house open, with the sounds of
cicadas and trees and the cheerful hum of washing dishes.
That was then. ten, fifteen, twenty years ago. When green surrounded me in its safety (forests remind me of my father, my family, learning why trees do the things they do, feeling the life in the silence).
I still love it.