The sun now disappears over the horizon,
the dew quivers fresh on the leaves.
The air stifling in this deprived heat,
The crickets chatter about the toils of the day.

I sit here, as I did in the early morning
with the sun.
As I have done everyday, inside my glass cellar.
Now the gecko glares, daring me to
break the mirror.
He doesn't stay long, knowing too well how
soft and timid society is -- in
the weathered face of Mother Nature.
The crickets taunt me, their cat calls
pointing out how desolate modern society
has become.
Or inevitably, always has been.

My yearning for the heat of the summer air is peculiar.
Why trade the comforts of this life
for the untamed?

Envious am I.