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Thoughts of Summer

Evening warms over, subtle and calm, as I look out back. My eyes meet the woods. There is a soft breeze. It moves me. Makes me breathe deeply. Insects hum in a soothing and constant way; I’m not sure what they are, not cicadas I don’t think, and I do miss them.

I am missing summer already too, although right now, in this moment, it feels as though it’s here. There is tender golden light and beauty at every corner of my sight, green and brown and blue and foggy yellow.

There is electricity between my body and the natural that surrounds me, alive and vibrating, and—ah, for a moment, the cicadas have returned, saying hello it feels like, not yet done, not yet done, and I am hopeful in their sound as I am hopeful in myself. What resplendent pleasure it is to sit here and listen to them when I thought they must have already gone.

The occasional plane passes overhead. I do not mind. I like looking at its contrails. The birds sing too and I am reminded in my chest more than my brain, of what it means to pause.

I treasure this moment because the trees are already changing, and some leaves are falling, crumpled and brown, and I am changing too. And it is in these moments I pine to know myself better. I hope that someday I will.

Flies land and crawl upon me as if a reminder of my decaying self, no matter how slow it may be. They do not bother me, and neither does the notion. Like the rest of what I am honored to sit within, they are existing, fulfilling patterns of a predestined course while I am here with the ability to bask in it, with knowledge and awareness and depth of emotion that is still unexplored and may always be.

I know this as I feel the gentle warmth of the sun on my cool flesh. I am in awe.

Thoughts flood from me and so does panic and traumas which dwell in the dark frozen places. And suddenly, I am nothing. I am relieved. Although my summer is ending and there is great pain in my heart for that, there is also gratitude for ever having it at all. For it was not mine, but theirs, here long before I ever was and long after, too.

For now, it is not once was or what will be. I feel as though I am nothing in a sea of sounds and beauty and raw, vibrant life, still and complete. I want nothing more. I want to be nothing more. There is not a need to fulfill or to prove. I am simply an observer of this moment, a moment that will pass, like all the others.

A hawk circles above, close enough to see the detail of his wings. My eyes are in the sky. The next moments are coming, just as the hawk is passing overhead, onto other lands. I cease and shed the old.

I feel. I breathe. I start anew. 

Recommend0 Simily SnapsPublished in All Stories, Non-Fiction, Personal Narrative

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