I watch the heat drip and listen to the heat sing and taste the hot and pungent colours of the summer. The birds are still, and even the poplars have ceased their trembling. This baked earth is what we crave when winter bites with frozen teeth, but such wilting and shrivelling dries my heart, and I long for the crisp mornings of running rivers in the ditch, the bright stream and pale sky reflecting cool silver that remind me of my salad days.
banners of summer
the lolling tongues, shade-seekers
listen for the night.