breath of god
It's been a dry summer here in Ohio, but the last couple of days have been thick with humidity and rain. As I drive the windy roads to my house, I dip down into haze and fog and then rise above it, watching it hug the valleys like a fairy tail. It's the Ohio I remember, the one I moved to two summers ago.
There's something about humidity. I've always liked it. I think it has to do with early memories of Atlanta, sunlight filtered through water droplets, the hour before you need air conditioning where the heat starts to grip you. You know that hymn that goes, "Breathe on me breath of God"? I think that must be humidity. Not that I didn't feel God when I was in the desert. But humidity has a certain magic for me I can't explain. It presses on my skin, holding me together.