Where do clouds go to sleep?

August has not been kind to me. Work draws taxes from my soul and the weather from my body. I read in deep, hours-long gulps on the weekend, then spend my time craving the feeling of crafting good sentences. On a day when the cold-induced sludge couldn’t get heavier, the light peeked through my closed glass window, brightening the room so the pages of my book could glow softly, taking me somewhere while I was in my bed, my grandmother in hers, the house silent. It was cream, the light, and it looked over the wispy edges of black clouds that had gathered all afternoon, creating the daytime darkness that I so love. When the light teases like that, how can one not be tempted. Even my grandmother couldn’t resist it. She went to the balcony, but the other buildings blocked her view. She went downstairs to hang out with her friends, and I went upstairs, suddenly strong enough to stay vertical and on my feet. Our neighbour and her little girl followed. And nothing could cure lethargy and…