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Here at our rooftop, collegiate, ‘resort of the mind,’
an early heatwave has struck - we’ve been advised.
Like we needed it. It’s 94°f and climbing - we’re not insensitive.
We’re aware that the sun is bright and the air is crisp and hot.
It was Friday morning, until the sun pointed to noon.

Nothing’s going to stop the summer swelter except thunder storms - which are on their way - we’ve been advised.
A seasonable tempest is being piped-up from the sea.
Like we needed it. We can see the far horizon’s shadowed billows and curtains of rain - we feel the changing wind.

But we have every reason to be cheery, forewarned as we are,
here at the pool, in the still needed shade, armed with margaritas.
The weather may change, the season alter, but we will, unaltered, remain.

We seem to have captured a moment of buz. People are swinging-by, dropping-in, bringing drinks and party snacks then lurking by the pool.

Fridays are 'sui generis'—magical—because they play tricks with time. Dreary weekday landscapes seem to transform, as the old week wanes and ‘the pert and nimble spirit of mirth awakens.’
(A purposeful Shakespeare misquote).
.
.
Songs for this:
Heat Wave by Linda Ronstadt
Heatwave by Bronski Beat
Heat wave - Bing Crosby
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 07/25/25:
Sui generis = something unique, or in a class or group of its own.

I have a (FaceTime) Med School interview with John’s Hopkins on Monday!!
I'm duper-nervous.
 3d Traveler
alia
she tiptoed on teaspoons,
drank sunsets from a straw,
taught a goldfish to waltz
in a teacup of awe.

her shadow wore slippers
made of old lullabies,
and her laughter?
a jellybean storm in disguise.

she planted her dreams
in a shoebox of stardust,
whispered,
"grow wild, not wise."

when asked her name,
she smiled sideways,
and became
a question mark in the sky.
you call me petal,
suddenly im blushing
like a rose in the morning
before the sun knows to look away

your fingers brush against mine
and something blooms --
not loudly,
but like orchids
deciding its time.

you always smell like wild lavender
and stolen hours,
like the kind of spring
you never see coming
until it's already
wrapped around your ribs.

i used to hate snowdrops.
they're too open, too soft.
now i plant them into poems
because they remind me of you --
brave
enough
to bloom anyway.

this thing between us
isn't fireworks.
it's passion,
it's roots,
and patience
it feels like sunlight shared on a park bench
where your head finds my shoulder
and stays.
inspired by spring.

date wrote: 20/6/25
 3d Traveler
Maddy
Always been a female Charlie Brown and Linus with Marcie thrown in for good measure
There are Lucys in my life, but they still scare me
Been a victim and now a survivor with flashbacks
Don't go there, please
Loner but not lonely
Having to accept that things change won't dare come for an answer
Sometimes, I'm too kind and good for my own good
Harder for teachers to learn lessons
Yet, they do
Moving on to the right direction and journey
Nearing Gravitas
I've buried a body, fingered Jess, and cooked a thanksgiving turkey.
I snorted a line, took a hit, and things are still a bit murky.

I've read the Bible, a little of Kant, and I've stared into the abyss.
Followed the moon all the way home, and something's still amiss.

I've listened to Bach while making her come as she looked into my eyes. And still I sit here wondering about unnecessary lies.

I thought by now there'd be a pattern, that in some way it'd all make sense.
That if I went ahead and experienced things, I wouldn't care about the tense.

So I jumped off a bridge, have had a few drinks, rescued a young opossum.
And I've had a few nice thoughts about that **** Emmy Rossum.

Maybe I've seen and done the things and people I was meant to be.
Though I know it never was or ever will be me.
All seems different,
like a blurry landscape
with vanishing maps.
The distance from the past
keeps growing.
I slice through space and time,
on the chosen path,
along a trajectory of circumstances.
Against the denial of access,
against the gate closing,
just to hold together what was apart.
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