The June day is so hot. My t-shirt clings to my back with the sweat of my driver’s seat. Somehow, my 1993 Honda Accord’s black interior can never cool off quickly enough for me. My breaths are so heavy, weighed down by the humidity filling my lungs. The thick air, promising a late afternoon summer thunderstorm, blankets me as I wait on the front porch.
The door swings open, and I am flooded with the cool air conditioner. Deep breaths of the refreshing air fill my lungs. I come inside, and find my place in the light, airy living room. The cool fabric of the plush sofa soothes my warm skin. Softly whirring above, the ceiling fans whispers the lazy tune of summertime. As I settle comfortably into the room, a cold, icy glass of tea is placed in my hand. A chill races over my radiating skin. The freezing glass fogs in my hot hand, cooling my palm instantly. My damp hair pressed to my forehead begins to blow lightly under the light breeze of the fan. Placing the glass to my lips, I sip. Refreshing and flavorful, the tea washes down my dry throat. I lick my lips. Sticky beads of herbal flavor dance on my tongue.
The quiet, barely audible whisper of the old book’s spine stretching touches my ears. The book is opened. The voice, matched to the soft whir of the ceiling fan, fills my mind. Cool breeze, icy glass, soft words. The words of a Southern author, as he describes the changes in life, the moments that make us who we are, bring me a heightened sense of the present. The cut glass of the tumbler in my hand suddenly seeps smoother. The taste of the iced tea on my tongue is sharper. The breeze is cooler. My heart is warmer.
The ladies in the room, people I care for and have grown to love, sit back, enjoying the moment much like me. Our bodies absorb the air of the ceiling fan. Our minds absorb the words of Thomas Wolfe. And I am keenly aware.
Keenly aware of my senses, as I feel, taste, and hear the summer day. Keenly aware of my culture, in a sitting room where I sip iced tea, and listen to the words of a great Southern author. Keenly aware of the present, a moment with friends I have grown up with, friends I will soon say goodbye to.
I am keenly aware of life.
Life made of heavy, summer air, and cool inside breezes. Life made of hot skin and cool glasses of tea. Life made of literature, words, thoughts, and stories. Life made of friends. Life made of moments. Moments like this, isolated and vivid, archetypes of a way of life. Cliche yet original, commonplace yet poignant, lives like this are lived out every day.
Yet, I treasure this day. I treasure this moment. Stopping to catch my breath, I consider the simplest details. I make notes in my head, so that one day, I might look back and remember the beauty in the every day.
For the June day is so hot.