Reblogged from K. D. Dowdall:

I wish for a tropical breeze to lighten the intense humidity that hugs this August morning. The porch, thank goodness, is high off the ground and the mildew on the screens somewhat block the steamy rays from the sun. The sky is intensely blue and the ocean is still and quiet—waiting. I breathe in slowly through my nose and exhale gently through my mouth, waiting for what I know must come. I feel powerless to change my fate.

My notebook is before me and I stare at the cover, that I am unwilling to open. I have been siting here now for what seems like hours trying to begin a story that I must tell. I must make sense of it, at least in my own mind. Perspiration drips from the corners of my temples. Tendrils of fading blond curls are damp across my forehead and I push them aside with the back of my hand.

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