august sentences, endless

[panta rhei]

the afternoons are so very fair, so lucid in these early august days of faltering light and of winds held back like a breath not dared to offer to the great exhale.
i am stretched out on the warm dry grass of a mountain flank, basking in the scent of hay and in the diffuse sunlight that seems to exude from every pore of the atmosphere. a falcon is hovering in the pale blue sky, flying on thermals of rising air, spying for urine trails reflecting the ultraviolet light that radiates just with the right wavelenght to capture his eyes's attention.

i am lying on silence as if on the matrix of dreams. the sky has widened into midday, emptied itself out into the realm of association, and the odour of the arid grass is as sweet as freshly baked bread, as a whiff of rasberry stew, as sunwarmed skin just about to be stirred by the touch of grazing lips. each breath i take is sated with quietude, is easily in flux with the estival pulse that surrounds me, and is at the same time heavy with the profound glow and want of summer, impatient with its own way to undulate within the air as iturges itself in and out over and over again.

there is a fullness smouldering in the emptiness of it all, or a blank wonder filling out the richness of each moment that exists beyond the design of time - it is hard to understand lines and layers and how it all intermingles and interfingers, how it exchanges and merges and migrates, when the day expands into nothing but warmth and scents and consciousness, held in place by paled shades of gold and blue that flow into each other without end or beginning, bleached by the sun and blurring at the edges of my awareness.

earth has her own pulse when summer croons itself into noon. her throbbing in my back is warm and familiar, a soothing heartbeat, cadenced and calming and rocking me in gentle rhythm.
all summers are stored in the golden light and scent of the barn of memory. within the red glow of the inside of my eyelids, i dive from rick to haystack, i rollick in mow, i fall into the dried sweetness of bygone times of heat. i sink in, i give in, i nest in summer dreams of shy chary cornflowers and endless wheat fields and wide open poppies hungry for life. as if asleep in the golden twilight of the barn of memory, i lie on the warm grass of a mountain flank and the afternoons are so very fair, so lucid in these early august days of faltering light and of winds held back like a breath not dared to offer to the great exhale. and i dream to remember, and then only to forget, as if the forgetting was by design, and i realize these to be words from a novel, words of a story that makes me want to quench my thirst.

[sweetwater]

a fullness in the emptiness of it all
releasing everything as if everything were possible in the releasing
and how it all feels
and how the feeling of it is always changing

[Perdida]

it is winter here, too cold for me. I have craved for warmth for months and here you have given it to me.

Beautiful and descriptive writing.

Thank you!

[Perdida]

forgot to mention i really love the title

[mnaz]

Oh, this is music. These kind of days are so fleeting and rare.. the simple luxury of warmth!

[sweetwater]

this is just a comment

[SmileGRL]

panta...your words flow into each other so seemingly effortless and paint a beautiful lazy summer afternoon...wish i was there...

[Lightning Rod]

yes, beautiful panta
I wish I could share your summer afternoon with you

this is what mine sounds like:

Sunny Afternoon

(sorry, this tune is a shade out of my vocal range, but I did the best I could.)

[panta rhei]

perdida, mark, sweetwater, mj, clay - thanks to all of you for reading!

(love your afternoon of sunshine version, clay!)

[Perdida]

just had to read this one again, such a feel-good write. You got all of my senses reeling, reading this panta. Truly a captivating write...Loving it even more.

Thank you!