Seasonal

The valedictory heat continues. A few leaves on the mulberry tree have turned yellow, and some have fallen. They lie on the brown grass and slowly dry. In a day or two my footfalls will be accompanied by the crunching sound of their disintegration. No rain will come to soften them. Days on end the sun will shine and the soil will bake. I smell the season turning to powder. The cicadas buzz in my head.