Pen and Paper
In the evening, I am outside — wearing jean shorts and flip-flops. The air is not as heavy with stillness and heat on the deck. My desk and computer are surrounded by too much stagnant and sweltering humidity to linger there long. So it’s a paper and pen kind of day.
A glass of cool water, the slow breeze outside, and a Mead notebook work fine, thankfully.
There is blue in the sky but it is very pale — almost white. In general, the clouds are pressed down low, milky. The sound of the parkway is vaguely exhausted. I wish I had a laptop.
June slipped in effortlessly (and almost unnoticed) and now seems to stretch out in warm languor — perhaps reclining on a beach chair by the water. I have a hankering for lemonade.
I’m writing this while standing, my notebook perched on the deck rail. Later tonight, I plan on working out a story with pen and paper. The computer is just too hot and electric for me right now. Moments ago, I thought that I could smell someone cooking outside, on a grill — but I’m not so sure now. Maybe it’s a memory brought on by the feel of things, out here.
I was thinking, earlier, that the Peter Greenaway movie, Prospero’s Books, would definitely be well-served by a clean, crisp, dvd edition; there is just so much to see in it. I ordered an import version of the soundtrack last week from Amazon — mostly because I really dig the music that accompanies the movie’s striking opening sequence…
And now — well now it is a bit later, and I am typing this in. And sweating. I’m going to finish this up and go get cool.
Catch ya later.