The evening glows under a sherbet-colored sky. Hanging from this sky, clouds– thick and heavy, low– their slow migration quiets the birds. The defiant chicks of each nest send out an occasionally sleepy chirp in rebellion of bedtime. Defiance seems universal. And then the crickets take over. 10 seconds of total silence in the night, that’s what I’d guess. I wasn’t thinking of time before this.
I could touch them, I say as I step from underneath the porch and into the full orange blanket of the night. I remember realizing, on a recent trip, that clouds– not just air and wind and temperature– cause turbulence. I know what I learned in science class, but I had always thought of clouds as weightless; mist. And that always saddened me because laying on colored clouds at evening time and watching the stars quickly appear, multiplying, has to be the best activity, hands down, imaginable to man.
The mosquitoes come later. The mosquitoes come slowly. I barely notice them at first. I think I’m sending a strong message that my guard is way up. But it grows overwhelming. All at once, there is a crescendo on activity on every part of my body. I am flailing. The pain is sharp.
But this sky. I haven’t captured this sky. I fumble for my phone. I curse my being lost in the moment and my lack of ambition. But I can redeem myself. I can fight through this pain. This pain is nothing. The people will be wanting a visual representation of my words, or is it the other way around? Yes. No.
Here it is. For the 21st Century Reader. Your image.