it starts as a quiet feeling, a warmth in your chest bright as the crackle of the embers in the bonfire your friends dragged you to
fluffy white clouds overhead as you lie in the park,
watching people, dogs and babies that stroll past,
idly wondering who they are and where they’re going
hazy summer afternoons so warm you almost can’t bear it but just as you’re about to curse the sun overhead it acquiesces and begins its slow descent, taking with it the brilliant heat and blinding light you’re always yearning for
it’s the way the city glows rose gold in the last rays of summer sun
first, the skyscrapers in the distance,
the roofs flashing before the glow flows down the window,
windows practically shining white
before the glow creeps through the city, lazy golden light stretching to the ocean where it meets the shimmering waves of the deepest blue, but, just for these fifteen minutes, gleam gold
crisp autumn mornings
with rain on the sidewalk and rain sleeting down,
sharp and cold and bitter but at least you can feel something
it’s the petrichor,
earthy and new as you step out of your apartment,
the streets slick with the oil from the first rain of the year,
the roar of the cars speeding past (because, try as they might, california drivers cannot drive in the rain)
chatter in your favorite cafe as you scald your tongue on your latte and instead turn your attention to the perfectly baked morning bun
it’s the buzz of a tattoo gun,
inky blood over punctured skin,
the exchange of long earned hours for a new piece of art gracing the canvas you so appreciate
late night facetime calls with your friends knowing you made the right decision
stumbling home with your roommates,
cheeks flushed from the cold and something else,
stolen glass in your tote bag, balloon in your hand, head spinning from the beer you just drank,
pit stops in the undercaf
and a few hundred blurry photos in your camera roll
it’s the clack of mahjong tiles,
repeating the rules a hundred times,
and the rush of adrenaline as you all wait for the very same one
the wind in my hair as i drive across the bridge with all four of my windows down and my radio up and 65 on my speedometer
winding country roads with six different types of cows and green hills rolling as far as the eye can see
a horizon that seems to go on forever streaked with cirrus in shades of pink and orange and yellow
quiet evenings at home,
the tv on in the background, the fan on in the kitchen, the christmas lights shining on the windowpane
it all comes back to me
as i lie on the earth, grass beneath my fingers and dirt beneath my nails,
stars overhead,
the most stubborn and bright and shining for all they’re worth against the yellow lights of the city,
just bright enough to be seen but still too faint
grateful to be alive