rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Second Half

The lazy crescent moon doesn't clear the tall pines until the sky has already begun to turn deep blue. Dawn will swiftly follow, bringing another day as hot as yesterday. The entire holiday weekend will be scorching. What nation in its right mind declares independence in July? This is no time of year for lively celebrations. This is a time to move about as little as possible. But some local residents (kids, most likely), disagree. Last evening they got a head start on their partying by driving about the town and tossing strings of (illegal) firecrackers and single cherry bombs of assorted sizes from their car. I heard the pops and cracks and booms from one quarter or another for about twenty minutes.

Someone in the neighborhood also had a late barbecue, and used too much lighter fluid on their charcoal. The acrid odor at first made me think that one of the strings of firecrackers had set a parked car afire. Later, the smell of roasting flesh told me that it was merely the work of a very bad cook. I, naturally, much prefer the smell of the jasmine. It is nearing the end of its supply of perfume, I suspect. It was less intense tonight, though it may simply have been overpowered by the smell of charcoal and lighter fluid which, even now, faintly lingers. July is a wretched month in which to be trapped among the suburbanites.

Now that the sun is about to poke over the horizon, I see a lovely streak of feathery cirrus clouds hovering overhead, flushing pink. In a few minutes, the tips of the ponderosas across the street will kindle with sunlight. Though loath to turn off the fan, it is nearly time for me to close both windows and drapes, defending from day's onslaught what coolness of night the house has managed to gather. Ah, just let me get through the next two months without having heat stroke!

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