A Favorite Feeling

Collapsing on the stairs after finishing a jog. In the humidity, the sweat forms like an internal dropper is pushing it out of my arms, my legs, even my hands, before it slides away to plunk in perfect circles on the cement. In the first few minutes after I plop down, all I can do is breathe and sweat and regulate my heartbeat back down to normal.

I seldom think of sweating as an action, but in the thickness of Missouri's August, it is. Cicadas strike up the band and then stop as quickly as t...