Outside, it is hot and still,
the air strangely silent.
The crickets doze,
the wasps float,
the trees curl up.
Even the local dogs,
usually vocal,
seem incapable of interacting.
It is the same inside the house:
the candles wilt,
the plants droop,
the paper birds collapse.
Over on the windowsill
a fly searches for company
while ants dissect its mate.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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Rebecca L. Atherton 