Hanging

[rejectomorph]

I can see about a dozen scattered stars dimly penetrating the clouds tonight. When I woke, the day was in that fluffy cloud and bright sun stage between storms, but by the time I got out for a walk, all was again gray. If not for the flowers and blossoming trees, it might have been winter. Now the night is dark and still, with no croak of frog or chirp of insect. By this time of year, there is usually a chorus of crickets in the evenings, and my windows are open late. It is almost time for the scent of jasmine to be drifting on the balmy air, and here we are suspended, like the roses which have remained unopened buds for more than a week, waiting for the sun to coax them into full bloom.