I remember the heat wave of the summer of 2019.
Days with more time than money where we explored every country road. Windows rolled down.
Sun-drenched. Skies of cotton candy blue.
Skin slick with sweat and salt. Legs sticky on car seats.
Scorching by degrees, too hot for air-conditioning to matter much.
“I remember that I did not always know authors were ordinary people living ordinary lives, and that an ordinary life was an obscure life, if we can extend the meaning of obscure to mean covered up by dailiness, glorious dailiness, shameful dailiness, dailiness that is difficult to figure out, that is not always clear until a long time afterward. Obscure: not readily noticed, easily understood, or clearly expressed. Which is a pretty good definition of life.”
—Mary Ruefle, Madness, Rack, and Honey: Collected Lectures