Evening Air

The air outside tonight is warm and wet. The sky sits on your shoulders like a cloak. When I stood in front of my house a moment ago, the black spotted bowl above my head stifled the breath and offered only silent weight to halt any effort with a vale of sweat and aching muscles. I'm glad I'm not working on the yard right now. On the way home, the strain and sweat beaded on my head and made my shirt wet. Elle gave me a hug regardless. What a trooper.

The only thing between us and the cold vacuum of space is air. At night, the universe stares back from the darkness and breaths along side me. It is midnight. Looking up, I'm as far from the sun as I can get without moving to Brazil. This is as close as I'll get to those stars I bet. That's fine. I'm not sure the evening air will give me up.

Then I walk in to the AC and all that griping heft sloughs off like relaxed tentacles slipping back to an ocean outside my garage door. I remember times not having AC. Sleeping without throwing off the tentacles is a strain. How have I ever dealt with humid hot nights with the heavy air, to rest? Glad I put up the fans for Elle and Nat.

Nat is watching Ghost Hunters a friend loaned her. Elle is long off to bed. I'm off to bed now. Then back to work. I'll witness the sunrise in the morning while I wonder to the bus stop. I have a plan for when I get to work. I have to think, plan, communicate, create and run to please my masters these days. When I come home, I have to fix and clean and be a husband and a dad. I have to hide from the heavy evening air to sleep and start it all over again.