The heat scours the landscape
and the humidity wraps itself in my hair,
creating damp ringlets against my neck.
The rustle of desiccated leaves,
scratching the dry itch
of the hot southern breeze,
is all that’s left of the garden.
Rooms remain darkened,
against the late afternoon sun,
with only the sound of the ceiling fan
in the drowsy halflight.
It is August
and the summer has been long.