First

[rejectomorph]

I lurk in my room. Though the biggest window faces west, the dense leaves of the mulberry tree screen it from the afternoon sun, and only a few quivering patches of direct light pass through to fall on the floor. This dim space yet holds a bit of morning's coolness. Looking out, I see the electric lines strung across the street , like bright slashes against the leafy backdrop. Always full of coursing heat, they now are wrapped in it as well. A slight breeze stirs the white daisies at the corner of the yard. One of them flies away. No, it is a white butterfly! This is the first butterfly I've seen all this year. It darts up on flashing wings, turns and whirls as though windblown, flutters by my window, and vanishes. Somehow, imagining the breeze of its wings makes me feel cooler.