My Cardboard Balcony

Some Bengal Spice by Belinda Roddie Some Bengal Spice tea soothes me this cool night in August, as I stretch out my tired bones and let my aching body rest, a slight angle to my slouching posture. At home, my mind rampages despite how weary I have become after quite a long day. It's strange how my thoughts linger on dreary patterns when the sky outside isn't gray, save for the smoke that covers up the sun in a thin sheet. I drain my heavy mug and let my mouse run wild against my thumb as I navigate screens and pictures. Tugged this way and that, my brain flails, and it screams. I hope that I may have much calmer dreams.

There's a place called Heaven to the north of my hometown - a restaurant that serves only oatmeal and tea. Somehow, the spicy brew makes me feel like I'm on a raft floating in an ocean just bubbling with the stuff. Everything is like a sauna. Everything is so warm. I thought that was more Hell than Heaven - or is it just climate change?