Dried

The cat finally turned up about four o'clock in the morning. Then she returned early this evening. She seems incapable of keeping a regular schedule. My guess is if she were human she'd be a bus driver.

Deer have been visiting by night again. I hear them but never see them. The sound of their hooves on the pavement makes a nice break to the monotony of cicadas buzzing.

Very late tonight the waning crescent moon will rise, two percent of the orb illuminated. I won't get to see it because dawn will come before it clears the trees.

Ants plague the back porch. The smell of formic acid rises as I step on the horde. Why have I no feral anteater?

When the heat ends my brain might come back on.