They say there’s weathers coming. I stand at my kitchen window swirling a sponge across a white plate .. The soapy water graying like the sky in the old farm sink. There is comfort in these clouds, as summer has dug in it's claws. And the heat of the day has stopped production .. The air so heavy it lays over the tractor even after darkness falls. The vegetables have to wait to be gathered by kerosene and lighting bugs under the relief of moonlight. I rely on the fact that summer is dying, though it always seems to put up a good fight. I rinse the plate looking into the dull water as the first drops of rain fall out on the yard. They say there's weathers coming.
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Very nice... I'm sure I'll be seeing it creeping up into Maryland in a few hours
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In these ordinary days, when all we have is the weather and some form of misty haze then one can sit back, cut a slice of cool watermelon and just breathe in the time.
You have a way with words that I cannot describe, they feel heavy, they feel as though drizzled with a mist of jasmine or perhaps is that juniper.
I like it, I like it so!
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