I drag my feet through static muck. My toes heat first. Then my heels. Insulated and stiff in canvas they cry. For every vertical tug upward there is an equally aggravated soreness that follows my boot downward where my legs would nearly collapse in their attempt to hold me up. Each bead of sweat is converted to Fahrenheit. Numbers measured in the thousands. vibrant leaves hang above me. They thrive in the heat and taunt me while I dry. I can feel them draining me. The weight of the universe blends into a homogenized mess and converges atop my head into one singular point that drives itself through my bones until I… raise another foot, and continue to walk. Like Atlas and his burden, I feel mine. And so raised high above me I continued to carry that snowboard to the promise land.
In my exhaustion I pray that this hemisphere will tilt away from the sun and take with it this blood-sucking easel of greens and yellow and oranges. I’d like for the Earth to condemn the heat and slip into its ice age once more so that I can thrive. I’d like the Earth to once again cool my body and ease my mind. Summer is beautiful, and its warm, and its comfortable yet lacks that nagging bitch I know as irritation. She’s the one that comes to kick your ass and makes sure your tuning is up to code. She shovels the coals. Without her we’d never strive to be creative, to explore the parts of minds we don’t meet when we’re in comfort. But all I’d like now, all I need, is white.
My body is worn. This tropical mess can only mean patience. And patience I’ll have to have if I’m going to make it back to that slope. For now I’ll walk one step closer and as my stride grows larger in anticipation I’ll know once again what it feels like to fly on this snowboard.
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