Sincerely, Solitude

My hair frizzy assaulted by this muggy weather.
Feel silly complaining about an Indian summer,
but I was promised fall reds, mustards and burnt oranges
Instead I hear pigeons nesting and the arcid smell of dirty barbeques.
Flames licking up flanks of meat,
the smoke feels like it’s sticking to my skin.

In NYC, fashion week has creeped up on me.
I can’t bare to look at any of the shows,
thinking of spring feels far too forward
and I am limping so terribly behind.

I’m digging my heels in.
Stopping.
Inhale. Exhale.



image by Helene Rydén