"The Quiet Before the Heat"

The lush green silhouette of Fort Hill on the first day of July.

First light comes a few minutes before five. By 5:25 the sun is already climbing over the northeastern hills of Peekskill, July announcing itself the way July always does — with the promise of a day so hot you’d rather sit by a fan or an air conditioner than visit anyone who doesn’t have either, especially if all they offer is four walls and no view.

I should be returning to a lot of things today, but trouble has a way of finding your door whether you invite it or not. People are so unhappy, so tangled in their own storms, that I swear I’d be happier spending the day with those goats I met in Pugsley Park at Pride than with most of the people I’ve run into lately — with the exception of maybe two souls I currently know.

Fort Hill is lush this morning, almost theatrical in the early light. A beautiful sight when you’re writing and the earth is still cool, especially after last night’s heat — the kind of heat that turns a small loft into a sauna when your best friend stops by and never quite leaves. Somehow, we survived it. Then another friend dropped in, and the temperature rose again, not from the weather but from her insistence on living in the past. Hearing yesterday repeated over and over is its own kind of abuse. I was relieved when she left, taking all those people and memories I no longer care about with her.
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In my mind I see life again in the big city — the one that appears in my dreams, the one I still visualize. I’m sitting in my apartment, doing my own thing as I always have, because that’s what makes me happy, that’s what makes me thrive. And this time there are no interruptions. Not a soul invited in.