What Days May Come

Tonight, the muggy air of the DC outskirts where I live is charged with the clean scent of nitrogen trails from the lightning bolts that earlier sparked through the sky. As the night blossoms into an envelope of hanging humidity, I tread lightly from my apartment to the common rubbish bin; my steps bring struggle as suck in this air. In that moment, I am transported in mind to thinking about my loved ones who are far away from here as well as friends that are even further scattered across the globe. Here am I, wonting to reach out again to a life that I once lived and once struggled through in making sense of the kaleidoscope of experiences rushing past me. Now, I am domesticated and contented with the knowledge that I have what I want and know what I need.

Yet something tells me that this is a temporal experience, a fitting segue between the life I used to lead and the life that lays ahead. Just like this humid envelope engulfs my senses, I am also choked by the lethargy of this moment and subdued from fighting the next great fight of life. Dramatic, I know - but hyperbole is warranted as I try to scrape the cobwebs away from dreams that lie dormant and waiting for my curiosity and attention. I can use my next great trip to China in a few weeks as wake-up call to emerge from this night into the days of summer's imminent promise of searing heat and bold colors. What days may come when such moments carry dreams again.

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Journal : OpenRoadWorks

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