Condensation
May 8 2013


Cool air
spilled-in over the sill
all night long.
The house, thrown open wide,
unguarded as an innocent child
asleep.

A thick heat, today
and I can feel the ocean of air
weighing me down,
so very different

from the cold dry winter
it seemed would never end.

Now, the windows are closed,
misting over
containing the cool
of the night before.
I look out through fog,
the world as impressionist art
in water-colour paint
on creamy paper.

Tiny droplets
coalesce,
running down the glass
leaving random trails
that merge, and branch

dropping-off the edge.
Abruptly stop
where surface tension
and gravity
exactly cancel out.

Saturated air 
envelopes
my hermetic house.
Stepping out
into wilting heat
that hits me like a body-blow.

As forgetful
as if my whole life
had been winter.
As if the existence of spring
were a comforting myth,
whispered to children
to make them sleep.

A very late winter this year, so when it turned warm it was sudden, under clear skies and lots of sun.  Today, though, is the first day with overcast and a little rain. 

The house is cool and dry from the night before. So when I stepped out the door, it was with the shock of hitting a wall of humid air, thinking to myself ..."oh, yeah, this is what it's like":  so unexpected,  it was as if it had been in a previous life I'd experienced summer weather; or at least so long this felt like the first time ever. And seasons rarely collide like this, the contrast rarely so dramatic. 

What mostly made me want to write this, though, was the stylistic exercise of microcosm, of close observation:   playing around with the simple image of heavy condensation on cool glass.