Midyear

Suppose the characters in our dreams believe themselves living.

( Sunday Verse )

Hating July

These are kill-me-now days. Even in shade, the air is close and sultry. I have the attention span of a gnat, and the energy of a zombie. I curse the hedge of pink roses across the street for its cheerful brightness. Once the sun sets, I open the windows and turn the fan on. I still feel sunburned and groggy. At least I remembered to make iced tea this afternoon, but it's gone now. I'd like to go to sleep and wake up in October. Bleh.