Who was it that said, “Sometimes I sit and think — and sometimes I just sit”?

This is a “just sitting” kind of morning. Which is too bad since I have lots of work to do. But for a few minutes “just sitting” is what I plan to do.

The cicadas are in high-summer mode. Their sounds ripple through the air, the aural equivalent of a dip in the pool or a Popsicle dripping down the arm on a sticky afternoon.

The morning air is cool and full of promise. I want to bottle it for a stripped-bare winter day. I want to store up inside, which is the only place that counts.

But for now … I want to just sit.