This morning

The mechanical hum started in May. It hasn’t stopped since. Those regulating fans keep the office, the restaurant, the apartment, the post office…the whole city, really, at an even 71 degrees Fahrenheit on their ever-vigilant watch. The radiating, swampy heat always pulses just outside the door, waiting to smother you in its sticky, wet embrace. Heat indexes creep towards red, your lungs burn, your eyes sting, your clothes are soaken through; you succumb to the novacaine-chill of a closed door and filtered light. It’s a sedative that makes it all go away, including the joy.

But then it changes. You step outside, ready to repeat the rehearsed steps of a hackneyed, tired dance when a soothing paralysis arrests your steps. Everything looks the same: cars and drivers shuffling along, intent walkers with headphones and newspapers, an occasional honk. But something’s changed. The leaves shimmer with a newfound vigor. The light forgives instead of burns; in fact, it’s graceful and accentuating and soft. An invisible burden and an almost imperceptible scowl dissolve into a newfound enthusiasm. The right song seems easier to find and possibilities flood your neurons. You claim your ground, understanding the fight is far from over. But you claim your ground.

This federal city has generously hosted the masses, sacrificing its streets and shops, its grasses and cafes. But now its time to reclaim a forgotten city and bid a fond farewell to the adventurers and admirers that made their way here. It’s time to relax and focus on where we are and where we’re going. It’s time for grounding and embracing and thinking and singing and relishing. The summer provides that elsewhere, but dc’s summer days are something else; something neat, but something else. Now, it’s time to step outside.

And you know what that feels like? A breath of fresh air.