Long and hot
This year’s summer is going to be brutal. A summer of fire and drought.
Already in June we’ve had water warnings, weeks on end without rain. Parched earth crackles and dusts at our feet and by mid-afternoon lost elegance flowers have nodded off, throats full of sand.
So we’re all shuttered in now like suspicious old spinsters, cowering from oblivion heat crawling in through the slats, cicada riot in the garden. Their nattering riffraff chorus is endless in the airless stupor of night, waiting for dull breezes from the droning fan to oscillate my way, and I’m thinking of ice and snow.
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