You arrive in the country. It is all rolling hills and unstoppable vines in overwhelming humidity. Something inside your brain clicks. A switch is turned. An inability to hustle appears, a reset, a lack of grit. You forget your computer three flights up and pick up a book instead. You see your email inbox twist and weave but figure out how to ignore it entirely. It turns out to be easier than you thought.
One night we drink too much and stay up talking about obscure music and house hunting. Topics of no consequence, only delight. The next day I have to sleep half the day just to recover. It rains in torrents, as if forgiving the slight. There are no grand thoughts, no wild plans. Only still morning walks down to the river. Only silence inside my otherwise constantly humming body. Silence. What a concept.
I close my computer again. Find a cup of coffee. Find the book again. Sit on porch steps and think absolutely nothing.
Summer came for me at last.
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