I am connected to the weather. Changes affect me. I watch the skies. I feel the humidity, or lack thereof, in my skin and hair. I get excited about flood warnings, fire hazards, blizzards and thunderstorms. And a mild, beautiful, cloudless day is something to savor. A day for the hammock.
My hammock is tucked away in storage. I have been thinking about it a lot lately. I have a habit of wanting to take it everywhere I go. I size up the distance between any two given trees, columns or posts to see if my hammock would fit, strung between them. If only I had it with me… I could hang it right here, while I’m waiting for my friend to pick me up, between this “No parking beyond this sign” post and the streetlight a few feet away… yeah, that looks like a good fit… Oh, here’s my friend. Maybe it’s for the best that the thing is still in storage.
My hammock is the greatest. When I am bundled up inside, nothing in the world can harm me. It’s like returning the warmth and protection of the womb. It yields to and supports every part of me without fuss. It works with gravity. It is colorful, cheerful, soothing, and ample. But more than that, it’s a place for looking up.