||[Aug. 14th, 2008|08:48 pm]
Nearly an hour after the sun has gone, the temperature has barely changed and the air remains utterly still. The gathered darkness sweats. I watered some of the flower beds, including the one where the pale brown clumps of dry sourgrass wait for cooler days to inspire new green shoots tipped with tiny purple blossoms. A bit of watering would at least keep the dust down should an unlikely breeze arrive, though hours may pass before I hear even a brief sound of rustling leaves, and a gust sufficient to lift even the smallest grains of dirt would be a great surprise. |
For now the night's sounds are only cicadas, and the hardly less pleasant whine and hum of air conditioners. Two of the feral cats have situated themselves in the back yard to nap after dining on the bit of dry food I put out for them. They are probably glad they don't have to exert themselves to hunt on such a sultry night. They probably enjoyed the fresh water from the bowl I keep on the porch even more, and maybe that's what keeps them hanging about. I keep hanging about for other reasons, and that's their good luck. I wonder how long it will last?