Thirty-One: Week Eighteen
Days one hundred and twenty through one hundred and twenty-six
Welcome back to Thirty-One, the project where I attempt to write something every day for a year. If you missed any previous issues, you can find them by clicking here.
Day One Hundred and Twenty (August 24th) My brother turned twenty-nine today. He’d been traveling around Southeast Asia for the past couple of months and came home last night. He didn’t tell anyone because he wanted to surprise us. My dad was out of town, so my brother hung out with a friend most of the day. When he finally came home, it was 12:40 a.m., and I was in bed. He didn’t have his key, so he came in through the sliding glass porch door. I thought I was being robbed. We had a good laugh and talked into the night. Happy birthday, little brother. I’m glad you’re back. Day One Hundred and Twenty-One (August 25th) I stood with my bare feet in the grass and let nature’s calm demeanor wash over me. Although her touch was cool, her hot breath remained at my back. Mother Nature will do as she pleases. Day One Hundred and Twenty-Two (August 26th) Nocturnal distance permeates the space between where we are and where we are afraid to be Day One Hundred and Twenty-Three (August 27th) Kestrels used to be known as windfuckers. There’s an etymological reason for this, but I won’t bother you with that. I’ll stick to the definition of fuck that deals with sensuality. I like the idea of needing the sky in such a primal way that it defines you. I wonder what it’s like to be so tied to something that it becomes impossible to speak of one without the other. Day One Hundred and Twenty-Four (August 28th) LED light bulbs are no good for lava lamps. They don’t generate enough heat. The once and future lava remains as a cold, shadowy rock, waiting for the warmth of life to ignite its spirit once again. Day One Hundred and Twenty-Five (August 29th) Waiting for a storm is like holding your breath before leaping off a cliff. Either way, the wind rushes through your hair and cradles you down into the water’s embrace. Day One Hundred and Twenty-Six (August 30th) For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. For every day spent on my feet, there is a day spent on the couch.
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Damn woman, you are a treasure