resettling

the night is pleasingly dark, now, and the trees seem strangely tall. why are the streets so green? how is the morning sun so golden? i wouldn't have thought a month in a strange landscape would turn my brain so much.

for hours, all i smelled were dirty socks, as we released compressed dirty clothing and exploded wool and nylon into the room.

phrases pass through my head, from strangers:

--

"you need to use a computer," said the man with glasses behind the counter, pitching his voice so we could hear it over the fryer. i stared at him blankly, confused, sleep-deprived, jet-lagged. "you can borrow mine. follow me."

--

"helicopter." i looked around, shading my eyes from the harsh unsetting sun, trying to follow the sound; i was still unaccustomed to tracking that thrumming rhythm through the valleys.

"is it landing here?" i asked, almost jokingly.

"yes."

--

"i should not say this, but..." she trailed off, looking around at the lush greenery, trying to find the right thing to advise us in the midst of a fire ban. "it's been so wet lately."

--

all of these memories will eventually slip away.

23 August 2018 19:54