Category : Stories

Sub Category : Adventure

In this heat even the trees appear defeated. Leaves that should be firm and upward tilting droop, flaccid like old lettuce. The soil isn't simply dry, but powdery to the touch. Grass that is always green until August is hay by early July. Even the air is dry, not the usual humid warmth we have at this time of the year. Each day the sky is barren, though of late the forest fires have stolen our endless blue for a dull grey and each evening brings us a blood sun. Two days ago some rain fell, large warm drops that disappeared as soon as they struck the hot tarmac or else sucked into the dusty mud not leaving a trace. We had such little winter that the fall leaves still litter the ground and I can't help but wonder if this season's greenery will even make it till autumn. Already above my head flutters gold where it should be nothing but robust virescent hues. In a few months those colours would lift my spirit, but not now. They should be dark, not this insipid tone, fuelling the tree for the winter ahead. This part of the world should never be so arid and we can only hope that the late summer will be kinder.