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Fallow

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Friday, 04 August 2017

 

“Come to your senses, woman!” My mind screamed out of tiredness, begging for its release from the burden of thought. It was definite: I would be taking August off.

 

It may have been the many academic semesters that made me subconsciously acknowledge July as the end of the year and September as the beginning of it. In between, August has naturally been the time in limbo, the month of being nowhere.

 

This is especially so in the ghost metropolises I prefer to spend August — the bigger the eerier, on the vacation month. That’s where you become witness to a visible crack in time, and partake in an inevitable change of rhythm, permeating all movement. And although not a fan of heat, I do get a masochistic pleasure of hallucinatory quality out of walking on scorching hot asphalt.

 

So, in the month of non-existence, my brain has always strived to let go of the old and prepare for the new — to be emptied. In a mind at fallow, thoughts emerge as wild flowers in an unseeded meadow. They are beautiful, rare and unproportionally strong, and you are always a richer person in September. Amen.

 
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Friday, 04 August 2017 11:40
 
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