07/06/2024 | tate-abrahamson | #from_life

All over the country we are setting record breaking temperatures. 110 F. “If you are outside for longer than 15 minutes you could be at risk of a heatstroke” drones the evening news. The sky is pink and so is my skin and so are my fingertips. I take my silence and depression outside and sit at the bottom of the pool. I hope to tie rocks to them and leave them there. My mom waters her flowers twice a day. If she doesn’t, they bake and shrivel in the sun. I sit and think about things that can’t and won’t happen until my head aches. Sometimes I read or sew or write in my notebook. I think about my professor warning me that the skill of writing is a muscle and will atrophy if I don’t exercise it. I should write something other than my monotonous thoughts. I picture my skill shriveling in the sun like the hibiscus on our porch.