The cicadas are singing their summer song.
Not a 10, no beat and I can't dance to it.
They sing of heat, long days, longer evenings and air so thick it drips down the outside of my glass.
The neighborhood owl is voicing his opinion as well.
I feel more harmony with this group than the rain slapping against my windows in fall or the silent snow that falls in winter.
Summer noises remind me of happy times.
Bare feet on hot streets,
heading home as the street lights came on.
Cool pools,small bikinis, Beach Boys singing about California girls.
California hot days eased into fog cooled evenings.
The east coast, the south and here in the Middle, evenings are hot days without the sun.
Summer 24/7
I imagine Blanche Duboise fanning herself and dabbing the perspiration from her neck with her delicate handkerchief.
I hear Scout and Jeb running home at dusk.
Great stories of hot, humid summer nights.
