Summer wasted no time. It was clear
first thing in the morning that she
meant business. Thick fog was rising
from the field as if it the sun was
inhaling it for breakfast. When I went out
to feed the birds the air was heavy and still.
It clung to your skin like plastic wrap.
Not a leaf moved. The sun turned it up.
You could feel the air grow hotter by the minute.
In the afternoon, Bob called. “The angels are bowling
out here and they even spilled a little of their drinks,” he said.
I scurried to get the flag and canvas chairs from the porch.
Then, all excited, I sat on the front steps, looking west
through the trees, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
For a minute a batch of clouds raced in.
The wind blew. The trees danced. To the northeast,
a peal of distant thunder rolled across the sky.
And that was it. Nothing more, except a blessed little breeze.
Tonight it will be clear, with fireflies.