rejectomorph | Before Dawn

June brings soft nights and the scent of jasmine and broom, and the chirping of crickets. This year, it has brought more wind than usual. There will be a few minutes of stillness, then a slight stirring of breeze from my open window, and an intensification of the floral perfume, then a rustling of leaves in the bushes nearby, followed by that rushing whisper from the pines, so like the sound of distant waves. After a moment, the stillness falls again. Each time the breeze enters the room and brushes across my head, I feel the coolness and I feel my hair moving. It feels like anticipation. What is it that I await in the expectant night?