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# Soulular
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/soulular/
- Published: 2026-08-15T05:38:00.000Z
- Updated: 2026-08-15T05:38:00.000Z
- Description: “Soulular,” an ode to the life-renewing temperature and humidity conditions of a Maine August day, written Saturday, August 15, 2026 poem 227 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo: "Portland Head Light Against Blue Sky," by Diana Ludwick © 2026.
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Of Place, Poems, Short-form Musings, travel, Apple Crisp, August, Banana Bag IV, Blood, Breaststroke, Breathe, Ceiling, Fahrenheit, Granny Smith Apple, High Noon, High Summer, Hug, Humidity, Molecules, Outdoor, Oxygen, Portland, Portland Head Light, Potomac, Solar Panels, Soulular, Summer, Sunshine, The District, Wheezing, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

Portland skies reach up to the exosphere; the ceiling does not exist.  
Sunshine lands upon every surface, a gentle warming hug.  
Just shy of noon on a Friday, a summer vacation escape.  
A Granny Smith apple-crisp day of fifty-five percent humidity   
— and seventy-eight degrees Fahrenheit —  
enables outdoor revelry not experienced at home.  
A different planet than the swampy grey of August in the District,   
where we breaststroke through our soaked cotton ball air, not the Potomac.  
It's the type of day where I can breathe in and out without wheezing,   
draw atmosphere into my lungs, feel oxygen molecules   
infuse my blood without obstacle or malice,   
like at home where every outdoor venture is a recipe for shortness of breath.  
This day opens up and welcomes, nudges me into the light.  
I unfold my limbs, imaginary solar panels, recharging under cloudless azure.  
The sun fashions me an invisible banana bag IV, replenishing me at the soulular level.