I feel very feline.
The storm has passed, another cry of wolf from the 24-hour news creation establishment. The deck is cool and fresh, and the couch comfortable. I understand how the cats can sit here immobile all day. Beyond my small cone of light, the night is alive. The cicadas sing their hearts out while the TV murmurs inside the house. Solar lamps provide meagre oases of blue-white light in the yard, failing to illuminate beyond their own feet.
The wind roams the pine tops, free from the heat and the storm. My thoughts roam with it. They pass with a wonderful sensation, a sound, a feel, even a smell; but like the wind they steadfastly refuse to take a concrete form.
There’s something creative out there among the trees, but it won’t stand still tonight. Perhaps a catnap will do the trick.