It is now a new month and it is raining; I notice red on the trees for the first time as if it had just sprung up over night. The world is open and I don’t mind how my phone is monumental; words open the world and then open it some more, or maybe I should say, words open worlds.
I was sleeping last night, felt my body move into the soft cushion, sink in comfortably, awakening just a little and then more awake, felt next to me the sense of a dip in the cushion as one would make with their hand, small, and then I looked and no one was there. I didn’t know angels could cause such little ways of mischief. Aha! Mystery is great.
I am restarting The Sky Atlas. I found myself not grasping each sections’ main points, probably too eager to get to the myth about the sea above the sky, and I want to share a few parts that move me and may have certain poetic qualities, whether they’re science or mythology. But I want to get the facts better to share them in summary, so I’m not like some dad calling his kids by their siblings’ names and thinking’s he’s right.
Warm, misty rain. My light lungs are breathing summer.