July 30/365 Listen

A month late for this whine: cicadas looking for love send a metallic rising note out over the neighborhood.

Ah summer.

No books today. Longing is in the air. Hopes will be dashed, but the singers are determined. Don’t you love how, with July waning, the fatalism creeps back into all voices, and summer, long before her end, suddenly seems filled with portents?



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