When the Earth Stood Still
A high haze
and the sun glares, relentless.
This heat wave
rolled in from the deep south
and stayed,
rippling off the pavement,
weighing down
torpid air, tinder branches
brown dejected grass.
I think of cold snaps
sub-arctic blizzards,
the flat gloom of winter
easy on the eyes.
Of spring,
green shoots, dew dripping
high transparent skies.
A brisk October’s
chill pellucid light.
But now, the earth stands still.
Sun, a million miles closer
heat that builds and builds.
“Just wait,” we chide,
“a change of season, and we will pray for this”.
Until it breaks
with black anvil clouds
the crack of thunder.
Hunkering down, it comes,
pounding rain
drowning out our voices,
power fried.
And in an hour, sun,
boiling off, steamy hot
air too thin to breathe.
“It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity” we say
nod in agreement.
Watch sleeping dogs
sprawled in the shade.
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