Humidity hangs in the air. A slow moving,
enveloping death to suck the
life from your lungs, leaving you limp.
The Summer sun heats the day until a
point when nothing moves. The dog lays
still on the ground. Birds are silent.
Sweat beads on your forehead for doing
nothing at all. The only sound, the insect
drone, loud and in your head like
a bad case of tinnitus. On and on.
Not the slightest breeze stirs the curtains
as night comes on and you try to sleep.
And tomorrow, the same.
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Good imagery of a hot summer day. It’s already 82 degrees here in Central Florida, and the temperature is supposed to go up to 85 by late afternoon. And it’s only May. I should be used to the hot summers by now, but I still complain. I don’t say a word about our beautiful, mild winters, though, with only a few days of cold weather.
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