Rhapsody, because it is Wednesday (1)

Piercing. That is the only fitting description of the day sky. Piercing. It is clear; the clarity of a still and deep section of a river, the kind that makes you expect something to jump out at any moment, or rather since it is the sky, to fall down. It is hot, the heavy heat that seeps into your clothes and lies beneath them like a recalcitrant puppy hiding under a sofa. I enjoy days like these; I like the feel of the dry warm air on my skin, I like watching the fine blinding dust as it is carried by the wind, the dust that forms ghosts of objects that are observed through it, that finds its way onto every surface and the comforting warmth that rises from the ground in the evening and into the night.

They are quiet peaceful days, the heat having lulled the world into a resigned torpor. The land becomes barren, the grass shriveled up into infinite soft thorns that crackle under your feet, the vistas that were once green are now dead and dull. I walk barefoot when I am outside the house, relishing the tickling sensation of the dry blades as they give way beneath my weight and titillated that one might puncture my skin. And the smell, the heady earthy smell of the dust and the dryness. I love this smell, I have from as far back as I can remember. It is raw, pure, nature untainted, at its most naked.

The nights are lovelier: no clouds, clear stars, clear moons. Trying to absorb the vastness of space makes you feel small and fills you with child-like wonder, looking at that infinity of light points, communing with the past because many of those stars are long gone. And, always, the silence. The simple bereftness of it all. There is an inexplicable beauty in desolation, in the deadness. Maybe it is in the knowing that life will bloom again, or that the skies will be grey and angry soon enough and that cold and the wetness will follow. The anticipation of change. Or, maybe it is that it is a reflection of the end (or a beginning), of everything, of us: everything will will end, everything will die, we will die, sooner or later, and that is alright


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