This morning on the way to class the air was burning in my lungs.
This is not a metaphor.
This is not an image meant to conjure up a reaction from you.
This is not the physical reaction of an emotional state.
This is the simply the air above my parched state.
This is the result of an electric storm over golden hills which ignited.
This is the think smoky haze that gets caught in the valley where the sea breeze can’t quite reach,
and the air lags, stagnant above my head.
Blue skies faded into brownish grey haze lingering on the horizon.
My mind was back in India,
breathing in
the stale scent of diesel from the rickshaws and kicked up dirt that had not yet settled.
Breathing out
At a conference campfire,
Sitting downwind of the blaze.
Coughing and laughing at how every time I moved
the wind followed.
Relaxed I sigh,
fond memories are good company.
Then I remember where I am.
The foreign air above my native land becomes unwelcome.
Thick, heavy, an unwelcomed visitor with too strong of an embrace.
The stale scent in my nose,
the burn in my lungs,
the inescapable presence of a far removed disaster.
I climb the hill on the way to class.
Panting as the air makes the steep incline just a little harder.
The grass on the foothills has been sheered and the once golden hill is now bare.
I don’t care.
The beauty might be lost, but
We’ll have blue skies again.
(But what about the golden hills?)
2 comments:
I'm curious what prompted this. I especially liked these two lines:
"The foreign air above my native land becomes unwelcome. / Thick, heavy, an unwelcomed visitor with too strong of an embrace."
Currently the entire state of California has poor air quality after an electric storm last weekend started a bunch of grass/forest fires. Currently there are no clouds but the sky is still gray. The smoke makes the sunsets look beautifully red, but the air is not too pleasant to breathe. Hopefully when you get home this will not still be the case.
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