In the Middle of a September, Slow, Hot and Grainy

Sometimes, you’re in the middle of an unimpressive something and you know you’ll remember it—
a moment taking a snapshot of itself; weaving itself into words as you move through its paces—
I will remember the paper-thin leaves, their crackle under my shoes somehow louder than the traffic around me;
walking round a bend, strange smells I can’t identify suspended in a sultry, grainy heat
I will remember
the shift in the weight of the air, moving from the shimmering, dilated sunlight to the lapping shadows, to the air-conditioned cool—
each 20 second frame blurring seamlessly into each other—
rubber soles slapping softly against hardwood;
a sky full of evening light trimming the edges of buildings in a soft pink—
an unremarkable day neatly packaging itself into moments of clarity, small and curious enough to turn over in the palm of your hand, for reviewing later, for fading overtime.

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