Another Hot Night in anticlimatic

  • Aug. 18, 2022, 9:38 p.m.
  • |
  • Public

What a glorious, hot evening. I grew up hating hot evenings, but have come to adore them. Time feels like it slows down to nothing. Warm eternity to float in.

I’ve got some country music on the radio in the kitchen at the moment. They’re playing lots of the classics that remind me of older generations and growing up. My dish tank is filled with fresh soapy water, and I am taking a moment before beginning.

Moments ago I was out on my now routine bicycle ride around town. I have a neat loop now that prioritizes as much flat land as possible, with the bulk of the uphill work in the beginning, and the bulk of the downhill sailing at the end. It takes me through several types of neighborhoods, but the final downhill takes me out of the streetlights and sends me down along the river. There are no lights on the river path, and the river is old and deep. It is lightless, save what the sky provides. Tonight it provided enough to make out the distinction between path and not-path, and not much else. Of course it’s downhill, so it’s still hard to resist sailing at high speeds, and as I was doing so tonight I realized that a small black creature was running in front of me. I was, in fact, gaining and bearing down it- despite no desire to do so, of course- and while I puzzled about what to do it stopped abruptly and whirled around with it’s white tail in the air.

There are few fates in the world worse than getting sprayed by a skunk, so I careened gracelessly off the trail and into the bushes- tore through, circled back around, and rejoined the trail without much incident. No spray went off.

Timer on my brownies just went off. Because why not fire up the oven on one of the warmer nights of the summer? Something about gooey chocolate goes well with the evening. I wonder what people everywhere are getting up to. I wonder that always, but especially on nights like this.


Last updated August 18, 2022


No comments.

You must be logged in to comment. Please sign in or join Prosebox to leave a comment.