The heat drips off the day. As the sun dips I can feel a heart beat, sounding itself one thump after another, one thump after another. It seems to charge the air with an electric feel that sweeps me up. This is my summer. When time has slightly looser edges, days are long, and nights are warm.

That day we spent sitting in the shade dodging sunburn and heat stroke, and scooping ice cream to earn our pass, with the sticky sweet up to our elbows.

Now I’m here with 1000 of my very closest friends, in all the motion and commotion. There’s a buzzing hum, whether from the crowd or the stage I’m not sure. It shocks and makes the ground jump, bringing each beat into reality. The air is thick with a sort of sweet sticky aroma that lingers just above the crowd. There’s a pulse. It carries currents flowing in steady streams. Spotlights cut through the night catching tendrils of smoke that grasp like hands rising up to the stratosphere. We all jump fast on toes; I feel this pulse as it goes through soles into my soul. It rattles and clangs around, finding its place somewhere behind my rib cage. I no longer have my own heart beat, just the rhythm of the night to pump blood through my veins. So I raise up what I know and scream it out in a voice that gets lost in sound.

I am part of this sea, waving steady throughout. The night’s rhythm brings an astounding feeling that thumps even the sleep walking alive, makes them move their dirty feet, and shake their dirty hair.


~ by loosethreadsandwritersblock on September 11, 2009.

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