I woke up this morning to find the city drowned in neurasthenic vapors.
The skylight in the bedroom was reflected in the window and projected outside, a pale rhomboid shape against the muddy sky. I wish I could have crawled through that flickering spot, up and out into a world of blue crispness and windless air.
Instead, today was all about creeping humidity grabbing every bump on the face of this city, from people to buildings, and holding it ethereally tight. The Schuylkill was dull and indifferent, even as black branches unexpectedly reached out of it like irreverent fingers.
I wish for crispness and transparency. I wish this oppressive wait for bluer skies were over.
