Homecoming, per se, to MN. The air is thick here. One might think that it’s not the heat, but the humidity. One might be wrong.
Buried in the midst of lightning all around, the smell of fresh rain on thick grass, and old familiar roads are thoughts of who I was, who I am, and who I might be, carefully filtered through the prism of those I’ve love and those who have loved me.
The air isn’t thick with rain or anything specific to the weather. The air I crawl my hand through carries the depth of dark wine and the same potential for a hangover. Drink nostalgia too deeply, young man, and you may not come up again for breath.
A fitting song: Bigfoot by the Weakerthans