Gray, Humid Days

I like gray skies, but not when humidity hangs in the air. Moist air doesn’t give space – this a gray day gives through its light. Objects stand distinct when the sun doesn’t use them only to reflect its brilliance.

The humidity makes me wonder about how best to love. One doesn’t want to smother, but being forgotten is a very scary thought: the best of us don’t have perfect memories. What you want, ideally, is for her to stand out clearly so as to be remembered exactly. Yet the romance of it all tends to make you less focused on her, more focused on the experience, the lovely happenings. What you want, ideally, is for you to stand clearly before her, but you need light to be visible, more light helps, and sunshine makes it worthwhile for most.

These gray humid days will change. How we see and how we feel is another story.  I long for Autumn, when reflection is common to all creatures, and friendship is extended from a warmth within.

1 Comment

  1. I like the last paragraph.

    Yesterday was a gray, humid day here. I waited extra long at the bus stop and ended up watching white seagulls fly admist a gray back drop. It wouldn’t appeal to most people or seem like the prettiest sight, but there’s something sentimental about that image. I can’t put my finger on it though.

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