THE ROAD
America - land of no sidewalks. In addition to being the land of so many other terrible things.
I waited a few days to do a new post, so I didn’t annoy you. YW.
Moist.
The word doesn't give me the heebie-jeebies as it does other people. Moist can be used to describe many lovely things. A towelette. A cake. A dewy, barely there makeup beat. A signal of sexual arousal. Yet there are many things that I do not enjoy being...moist.
This morning, I did not enjoy my moist legs. I could say "damp legs," but they didn't feel damp. They weren't soaked either. Just…moist. Moist with the gutter water of many cars passing me by and spraying water onto my pants legs. My thin pants legs - since climate change hasn't allowed those of us in the Northeast of America to don our thick autumn pants yet. The weather remains "not crisp." The slight chill in the air has not arrived, and I think back to my childhood in the 1980s when late September was already the time to put on our autumn garb. In fact, you don't even have to go back that far in the time machine to remember happily wiggling your legs into some wool pants at this time of year. A thicker cotton pair of slacks. Your stiffest indigo-hued jeans that two months earlier would have made your legs very unhappy. Gams, chafed in the thighs and moist from the still summer temperatures.
"Maybe this is the only benefit of climate change," I thought out loud, looking down at my pants legs. The hundreds of dashing cars that sped along the highway before me immediately drowned out my words. The white noise tires make when rushing along rainfall, while sometimes soothing, now provided nothing but stress.