summer’s almost gone (never gone).
I couldn’t tell you if the storm had passed. The road were dry but the sky was cracked behind the Hancock building which gently radiated purple, blue and auburn hues. Sweat slowly pushed through a tee and sleeveless hoodie to greet my backpack as it had so many times before, but now it took hours and had to travel through layers to reach its final destination. At home entire patches on my sides without moisture were revealed. Fall was here, I thought.
* * *
“For you Manue, Bobby McFerrin.”
“No I didn’t.”
Outcroppings of shade provided by roadside trees were embracing the road in varying degrees. Their calm was punctuated by short stretches of brilliant haze forcing our heads to the right, which in turn forced us to acknowledge the goldens and blues of the coastal marshland. The road gently oscillated and curved in a tone that reinforced the breezy stillness surrounding us all. Our speed was something more than lackadaisical but it certainly was not urgent. We moved at a speed dictated by that which enveloped rather than one motivated by what we had to secretly feared.
For me.
For us.
