The air today drapes over everything, impossible to ignore. There are some interesting things going on in the sky, things that command my attention when I really ought to be writing.
When I went out to the back deck for a smoke* the clear blue was giving way to clouds; pristine, wispy, the kind of clouds children lay on their backs in the grass to study and name. I gave in to the curve of the chair, let my head rest—for a change—on the long swoop of seat back, and stared at the passing white. “What do you see?”
It took me a while to let my mind shape those clouds into images; it was stunning to realize how hard it is for me to allow myself that kind of play. But then, suddenly, I could see them: a woman dancing, the joy of movement and twirl; an old man relaxing in a bathtub, mouth agape, feet bobbing on the bubbled surface; a horse galloping, front hooves raised, a rider hanging on, hair streaming just like the horse’s mane.
The white clouds gave way to darker, denser gray overcast; a thunderhead formed.
For the past hour or so a thunderstorm has been lumbering through the neighborhood, asserting itself once in a while with a sort of absent-minded rumble. “I’m here,” the rumble seems to say. “I could wreak havoc if I felt like it.”
The cats are taking refuge in sleep—Mr. Handsome Man is stretched out along my laptop. How can that be more comfortable? The heat coming off the casing is making my palms sweat. But he also has his paws wrapped around my left forearm; I can’t move without disturbing him. “I’m here,” his paws seem to say. “Are you here, too?”
* I don’t need any lectures about this. Honestly. I’m well aware of how awful this is.