The humidity of Austin’s night air tastes different than the air back home would taste on a similar night in the summer. It’s saltier and dustier than the piney moisture of a night in the Philly suburbs where the denser greenery and plant life spend all night soaking it up. Every time I breathe it in, the air in my lungs feels so dense and heavy that my lower spine tenses just to be able to breathe it out. If it were a drier night, the expansively empty Texas sky would be bright with the full moon’s energy as she recharges all manner of living creature and the ancient and modern rituals of Earth’s spiritualists, shamans, and indigenous people. But tonight, her highness appears to be losing a staring contest with the Republic of Texas and its deeply steadfast humidity.
It’s the eve of July 4th, America’s annual celebration of its independence from British rule, and we’re in a particular part of the country known for a stubborn pride in rebellious independence. You’d need this kind of relentless vehemence to even go up against the moon, let alone to have a shot at blocking it from view. Clearly, you don’t mess with Texas.
I’ve been down here for nearly three weeks on a temporary relocation with my friend Brynn and her amazing dog, Flynn, to help her and some new friends with a bunch of life and work stuff. The night air is so stubborn that it’s lead us to a quiet night in, save for a long doggie walk that should have been lit by a celestial magic show instead of this dark blue, moonless sky. And without its bright, guiding light, you can sense that the screeching grackles circling overhead and the howling predators down by the 6th Street railway line are all clawing for their chance to transform when the haze finally dissipates.