Summer sets in sweet and sappy as ever.
The air begins to feel stagnant
and everything breathes its own special scent.
Flowers fill the air with sickening sweetness,
and above it all,
The Heat.
It covers you
saturating every moment in slowness.
Reality itself becomes tired.
Its constant,
like some high pitched whine
coming from an undefined
and unimaginable place.
Its constant,
still,
always constant.
It distracts you.
You need to do something.
Its simultaneously slowing,
and motivating;
sickening,
and fueling.
Somethings going to happen.
The air breathes sticky humid potential,
useless energy.
Your waiting for it
waiting for it to dredge you out
fly you up high
high above the sleepy symphony of summer.