SHADOW LEAVES
It is one of those hot summer days when the air itself seems to be cooking, each breath coats your lungs in short puffs if hot oppression.
You can almost feel your skin crackling, a sharp contrast to the sheen of perspiration that glues on your clothes like a sticky second skin.
No birds sing. The cicadas seek refuge, too hot to be bothered with their whirring orchestral drone.
Even the light breeze, which could have offered a welcome respite, is infrequent and uninspired.
It is a good day to hide in the shadows of your home, basking in the air conditioned cool, but something draws you out into that smelter if an afternoon.
People pass like zombies, shuffling along as they struggle to conserve energy. Dogs pant in the shady nooks next to porches, pinks tongues lolling, unwilling or simply unable to bark at passing strangers.
Even in the dappled shade of an extended tree branch, you can feel the sticky heat closing in.
The streets shimmer, a wet sheen coating the distant expanses and retreating with each new step you take.
There is no escape from a day such a this, but you have places to be and a mission to complete.
You push onward knowing that at the end of your journey, a cold drink awaits. That small reward has to be enough. At least for the moment.
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