Hot, humid weather seems to oppress the senses. The house is cool this morning. For the first time in what feels like a generation, it feels cool outside.
Despite my lack of sleep, my mind is alert. The cool air invigorates the skin on my face – like the mild, tingling touch of spearmint. The sunlight advances through the trees with stealth. My skin starts to warm almost without my noticing.
The sun’s gentle hug contradicts the cool air and enlivens me further.
I sip an aged tea from the mountains of Southwestern China. By now, my senses are fully awake to the subtle nuances. It is very mellow. The flavor doesn’t dance across my tongue like the more robust teas but seems to rest there – like I am now resting in my deck chair.
It feels like being somewhere else- somewhere more exciting; with family, or on holiday. If it feels that way, why are the two experiences not identical? What is not exciting about this feeling – this feeling that feels like something exciting?
I close my book and walk inside, down the stairs. I smell the house. It reminds me of a different place and I am excited again.
I think I’ll make pancakes.