Stick & Stuck

Thick fog hung low in the sky as I walked to the bus stop this morning. Visibility was half a block and moist air pressed against my skin. As I stood waiting for the bus, it was cool and refreshing. When I stepped on the bus, which had neither AC nor a fan blowing, the stagnant air enfolded me like Saran Wrap. Sweat beaded on my brow.

It is October. October conjures thoughts of cool days and chilly nights, dry air, crunching leaves, and corn stalks as decoration. Sauna and greenhouses, clothes sticking to my skin, that is August.

The forecast calls for the 80s tomorrow. O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?