This summer is going by so pleasantly. That's my word for it. It's nice. Lots of hangouts and down time. Work's not so time consuming that it gets in the way of being productive. But still, it's not violently passionate...
Speaking of which, thunderstorms have yet to come. I want to see a really big thunderstorm (though probably not be caught in one--it's one of those things that only sound romantic but the essence of which reality would never permit, like glass slippers). I want the same intensity around me but also in me. The heat is sweltering here but it's a languid heat. And the breeze blows but to no avail in our quest for some escape from the air. At the same time, none of it is so oppressive yet. It's just...pleasant--at a standstill, hovering somewhere above limbo but below nirvana.
These are not complaints, and certainly not rage (which, let's face it, is a welcoming tide after those past that crashed into the cliff, their resounding roars lapping closer to the tip of drop-off point. Not unlike those fireworks I saw last night, each exploding closer and closer, until I think the next huge bubble of red and green sparkles will envelope us all) So maybe it's a blessing, I suppose. The pangs, exquisite and insufferable as they are, stand in the future with certainty
...so why be in a hurry to get there?
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