Reheated

Breezy afternoon rushed beyond balmy and slid as on grease to slam against a wall of heat. The wreckage is a strew of wrinkled brown leaves the oaks dropped, which crunch underfoot as I return to the shaded porch, the freshly-watered trumpet vine that clings to the back fence blooming madly behind me. On the porch an ant abroad without companions scurries, its quick fits and starts indicating perhaps that it has been driven mad by the concrete's stored heat. The late sun glints from the rooftop's spinning exhaust turbine, and the hum of the air conditioner is a constant background to the cawing of a crow perched in a pine tree. The distant air ripples. I suppose it was too much to expect August to provide two mild days in a row. May summer hurry like the ant, who now vanishes as she reaches the arid brown lawn.

( Sunday Verse )