in the summer, when daylight stretches infinitely long

there is a kind of sky that can only be seen

when you are north of north.

hours trek by on weary legs,

numbers climb towards 24.

but where one would expect a darkening,

a deepening,

like layers of watercolor slowly building upon paper,

there is instead a strange shift

that cannot be fully described.

pale blues linger,

untouched by twilight hues

even as the rest of the horizon in all the world

slowly fades into shadow.

and yet, there is a change in these colors

even as the shade holds steady

the tone is altered.

even as cobbled streets remain bright

and streetlamps shy from the persistent glow

of the expanse above

there is a shift.

evening does not materialize

and nightfall does not tumble down

but the powder shade of the sky

strengthens.

as if it knows

the power it is holding back

by refusing to change with the time

and halting dusk's unbowed rise.

a heaviness blankets the heavens

the crushing weight of transformation.

impossible to carry

except in those hyperborean places

that refuse to be deterred

believed the most beautiful of all?

the one who climbs and stalks and roams,

whose mere presence does enthrall?

have you felt its silken fur and feathers,

rough scales and sleek skin,

brush by faster than a blink,

with a lithe leap and soft spin?

have you heard its soothing calls

as you go about your day?

felt something new awaken

at the sound of its raw bay?

have you caught a glimpse of its lean form

through a gap between the trees?

witnessed its rough, untamed power,

and its predatory ease?

perhaps you tried to capture it,

to claim it for your own,

and in return, it clawed your skin,

ripped right down to the bone.

you would not be the first, you see

to seek seizure of its wild soul.

but it will never yield to one

who aims solely to control.

it only ever comes to those

who never turn to force,

who never push or chase or fight

and allow it to take its course.

the creature comes in many forms,

innumerable and distinct.

yet there is a clear similarity,

each shape quite interlinked.

do you realize the complexities

of such an intricate being?

sweet and cruel and pure and sly,

i am a less than impressive teenager. acceptable scores in classes, long-dead creativity, drained passion. all the things i thought i’d see in myself for years. i feel behind. i am not, not really, i am solidly in the middle. but for a girl who was always told she would make waves, i can barely seem to cause a ripple.

i defined myself as smart. high achieving. remarkable.

now that i am none of those things, what am i?

Merthur x House That Always Rain

You know I'd be popping out these type of things when my final paper is literally around the corner glaring at me.