—the clocks feel wrong, the air hums low, and everything from your phone to your heartbeat picks up a faint, familiar static
There’s a hum beneath the daylight now,
a tone too thin for speech, too loud for silence.
It crackles in the leaves’ dry shuffle,
buzzes through the coffee’s rim of steam,
lives somewhere between windchime and wire.
You stir the cup, it answers faintly,
a pulse, a click, a memory mistuned.
The radio tries to find a station,
but the voices all sound like weather,
like someone saying your name
from an older year.
The static fills the air between seasons,
not sound, but signal.
The earth re-routing its circuitry,
from green to bone, from pulse to patience.
You drink the noise in small sips,
until even the silence hums.
📜 Static Between Seasons – The Recipe
Ingredients:
- 1 scoop Medium Roast (preferably unevenly ground)
- 1 cup Wind-Touched Air (collected at dusk)
- A pinch of White Noise (from an untuned AM radio)
Instructions:
Brew with one ear turned toward the window. Listen for the hum beneath the pour. When the spoon clinks, stop stirring. Sip until you forget which season you’re in. If you hear yourself on the wind, pretend it’s just feedback.