A summer sit

Lost in the haze of thought.
Hot.
Sweaty.
Mosquitos bite me.
Cicadas deafen me.
The yellow jackets buzz at my feet.
I wonder if trusting them to not bite will suffice.
An edge of uncertainty...
I blow a mosquito off my arm.
A pine cone falls to the ground.
Where is the water?
Where is the rain?
Lightening bugs flash yellow.
Dusk approaches.
Sweat upon my brow.
My butt hurts. Shifting seems impossible.
Teetering on the edge of enjoying myself and discomfort.
In winter when I was dressed in my snow suit I wondered what summer would feel like.
I have no tangible memory of the cold.
It was just cold. 
There are no words to describe it.
Winter has faded away.
Yet, here I sit again begging the seasons to teach me more.
My mind drifts into the lostness that is thought...
Two Red bellied woodpeckers call out through the quiet.
Through the pines.
On the warm breeze.
They let the other know where they are.
"I" know where they are.
The warbler sings in the tree tops.
My mind returns to the surface of the here and now.
It comes up for air.
The beauty of the sit spot.
I shift.
I adjust.
I sit.

Written 7/7/12 (day 218)