More Heat

[rejectomorph]

All night the heat clings to the town. Only in the hour before the northeast grows pale does a breeze arise to make the pines sigh, as though in relief. Now, that purple glow that last evening chased the day from the east returns to push the last of blue night below the western horizon. The birds sing while they may. Shortly, the sun will rise and begin to bake the air again. What bird would sing in that heat?

I gave the plants a good soaking last night. The earth under the lawn is dark and moist. By the time I rise, it will be dust once more. No respite today. Maybe tomorrow.