It's like a hot, hot day--the kind that sucks into your lungs and seeps inside your head. Your heart clenches and unclenches, running too hot and too fast inside your muggy self. You will yourself forward, step after step (or fall back for a time), and it is hard to see for the sweat in your eyes. You feel angry. You feel ashamed. You feel afraid. You do not look your best, and neither does anybody else.
Sometimes a cool wind blows and your soul perks up to the wide blue sky and recognizes that children's laughter is sweet, that the world brims with wonder, and that peace can be real as a soft snowfall. When the wind dies and the heat comes back and settles thick, changing movement to the bare necessity demanded by the day's script, you slip the breeze into your prayers, like ice into a glass, and blow the cold up against your sweaty face, remembering.
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