Heat.

The first edges of summer have started to curl over the early afternoon, here in the corner of the world. Light cuts sharp lines into the floor, onto the wall, arcing late into the evening.

I open the doors, and at once, two things strike me:

The smell, a mix of warm wood, hot sand, the faint perfume of flowers, fading.

The sight, ten thousand leaves, upturned, curling. Pale green and translucent. The sun pours in, and they eat it by the bucketful. Open wide. Drink deep.

A few feet away, flowers stand dried, statues at the end of thin brown stems, their verse already sung.

A pair of starlings have nested in the neighbor's roof, and small wings are fletching all around the forest. Birds talk non-stop, gossiping and flirting. I catch one on the neighbor's roof, paused, having what seems to be a similar moment to me: this was worth the winter.

One of the things I've missed most in this year is being able to bring you little moments like this, time capsules from all across the world. But as the year has spun under me, stuck me in one cabin, I've been reminded that even in one place, nothing stays still. Stories here, too.

So here's another glimpse across the world, from here to you. I hope you enjoyed it. :)

Have a grounded week,

-Steven

p.s. The best thing I saw all week was a series of videos by Eons about life on Earth, that have really helped me find perspective. Here's one of my favorites where I learned about the many ways of being human.