It is so quiet the loudest things are the airplane 20 000 feet above and the analog clock on the wall. The silence feels cold and my lids feel heavy the wrong way, and my skin is dry and tight for hands that need to release words. The draft of a wind through old windows is gently pushing the blinds and a paper snowflake on blue fuzzy acrylic yarn to a sway, like a flowing dance without music.
Yesterday (technically two days ago) was our city's most poignant Earth Day. It was sunny, rainy, overcast, snowing, and hailing all shuffled up. As a friend and I sat in a non-idling cat each tap tap sound of hail on the metal or window before smudging and melting across the glass, refracting with little dots like a stretched, transparent leopard print was like popcorn, and we just felt excited.
Freedom this week is realizing the words in between the lines and in the draping of long flat skirts. Even spring and April has mood swings and relapses sometimes but it will still become summer. Excitement this week is the feel of pencil sketches of circus makeup ideas and the sound of hail on the window. It smells like lightly buttered popcorn and chamomile tea the way it smells when you drink it past bedtime but it's still okay.
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