Author's Note: Here’s a small one for August, as it’s too hot to read anything long . . .
Still Life in August
The long drone of hours on hot afternoons, the steady one-note of the cicada, the sky, a blank blue morning glory, stretches its thin skin over our heads, while the trees whisper in undertones their green language of loss and leaves.
Originally published in The Endless Mountains Review
©2022 Barbara Crooker
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