rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

July Is Like This

Sere fields cast gold light into the afternoon haze. It's been long since the sky has held clouds. The days are enervating. Even birds and insects avoid the midday heat, leaving the still air silent hour upon hour. But the spiders have been active, spinning webs to catch the prey evening brings.

I'm less like a spider and more like its prey, caught as I am in the suns web. I struggle a while, then go still, waiting to be consumed. Immobilized, I drift into naps and find fragmented dreams like water-shattered bits of light glancing from a surface that conceals a submerged labyrinth. I have a dream of having a memory of having flown, and I forget how the sun has caught me and left me suspended among dessicated husks.

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