Laying on your stomach, you feel the sun beat down on your back.
It just rained a few days ago and the ground is still slightly damp. As you take in the soft, wet aroma of the dirt and the sweet, fresh sent of spring’s early grass. Small droplets of water begin to travel from the ground, through your clothes, finally resting on your skin. The sensation, while not unpleasant, is strange, almost foreign, like the first strains of a familiar melody in a minor key.
The sun warms your back, drawn to the obsidian shade of your cotton t-shirt and the deep indigo of your jeans. Your back burns, while your front remains damp and chilled. Slowly the sun slips behind a cloud and you are plunged into the icy shade. You no longer have the sun’s sweet warmth. With its tender embrace gone, your discomfort grows.
Suddenly thrust out of the balance the sun had provided you, you become only chilled. No longer brushed by the sun’s fiery kiss. You feel the long, thin fingers of the cool, damp ground begin to creep around your sides pulling you into their frigid embrace. Until, just as quietly as it left, the sun makes its triumphant return.
The world is suddenly brighter, your cold imbalance is traded for passionate equilibrium. Your chilled limbs reclaimed by an immense, melodic warmth. You hear birds calling out to each other, songs of love, hatred, life, and death: desperate to be heard, yet lost for all the sound. A plane flies over head, the roar of its distant engines audible amid the hum. The hum of life. The hum of cars on the road, of far off lawnmowers, of men working, and horns honking. Of children shrieking with laughter, of tinkling music and dogs barking. The hum of the world, of humans, of industrialization, of time passing, of life, and of death.
The sun slips behind another cloud and you are plunged into darkness: into cold, and damp discomfort. With only the constant, unending hum of humans ringing in your ears.