It’s 30 minutes post sunset on a Tuesday.
Today’s been languid,
My body heavy against soft furniture
I’ve chosen to walk through the last bits of dusk until darkness (however lit by street lamps) and listen to the muffled sound of my footsteps and cars passing (I’ve put headphones on with nothing playing)
A shallow stream of water has collected in the wash alongside the bike path I often frequent on these thoughtful evenings
Wondering if I should be releasing that which no longer serves or manifesting something new for my life, I look to the moon
I see a perfect semicircle, exactly in the middle of a cycle (although I’m unsure if it’s waxing or waning)
I continue my walk and enjoy the lights reflecting in the water
Lightning strikes somewhere southwest of me, there’s no thunder so I can’t count the seconds between them
I’m always grateful for the rain in the desert. It makes me feel hopeful, albeit tired
My senses have adapted to the drought
I pass a mesquite tree wrapped in purple twinkle lights, and a bat flies over head (this is the fourth or fifth one I’ve seen tonight)
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 10:15 PM UTC
It’s 30 minutes post sunset on a Tuesday.
Today’s been languid,
My body heavy against soft furniture
I’ve chosen to walk through the last bits of dusk until darkness (however lit by street lamps) and listen to the muffled sound of my footsteps and cars passing (I’ve put headphones on with nothing playing)
A shallow stream of water has collected in the wash alongside the bike path I often frequent on these thoughtful evenings
Wondering if I should be releasing that which no longer serves or manifesting something new for my life, I look to the moon
I see a perfect semicircle, exactly in the middle of a cycle (although I’m unsure if it’s waxing or waning)
I continue my walk and enjoy the lights reflecting in the water
Lightning strikes somewhere southwest of me, there’s no thunder so I can’t count the seconds between them
I’m always grateful for the rain in the desert. It makes me feel hopeful, albeit tired
My senses have adapted to the drought
I pass a mesquite tree wrapped in purple twinkle lights, and a bat flies over head (this is the fourth or fifth one I’ve seen tonight)
