The day was fine. It sweat-motivated people driving them indoors to escape the head pounding heat or out to the water’s edge under the trees. I walked along the park tonight with sun laying on the surface of the lake as if a brush of yellow had been pulled along the surface. People were haloed and some hair moving in the small breeze was backlit to a saturated colour. Shadows crept into the skin folds: the inside of a bent arm, the rolls of fat and skin across the belly. The light caught in the brim of hats.
The impressionist were drawn to tableaus like these of people specifically assuming a shape while the last surviving light grabs onto all the possible edges trying not to slip away. For a moment the setting sun is held in place until it lowers into mere smudges of color in the torn bits of clouds floating overhead. It is as if in that one moment the world takes a photograph of itself, a memory of the captured day.
Overhead a seagull with knife-like wings cuts the early moon in half. It is cycling like the seasons shift, like life shifts from full to waning to non-presence. At times, a fingernail clipping of moon memory becomes pinned to the sky. And then the moon begins again to fill up its expectant shape.
Weakness and nervousness are the levitra cheapest price first symptom of impotency. Besides, the oral tablets have certain amount of side effects like nausea, breathing problem viagra sildenafil buy and others. tadalafil tablets prices respitecaresa.org Erectile problem is related with male sexual health, yet its psychological impacts are clearly visible on females. Some users may want to use these best viagra for women anti ED drugs simply normalize the working of the penis.
But tonight the moon was severed, in between its possibilities. The sun hung low not yet entirely set. The air was saturated with the 35-degree heat like a presence. Only a small wind offered relief. Everything supporting the theatre of life was set upon the grassy park. It was a scene in COVID time. An artificial, staged, constructed reality surrounding us.
The closing moment of the day is like all moments in our current lives. It is now and not yet. We live with messages of who has died and how many are in a science fiction coma with bodies invaded by machines. They hang between worlds not alive and not yet dead.
The young ignore the warnings. Some deny the looming presence and refuse to don a mask from their righteous indignation at not being seen. They float as a planet in the centre of their own constructed universe.
Tonight, the seagull flew low over my head and chopped the moon in two. I walked along the waterfront separate, distant like a spirit being but not dead. My shadow was in front of me.