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Into the sauna

Great Crested Flycatcher
Great Crested Flycatcher

Dawn, then, was a time where things changed element for element.  Air ran like hot spring waters nowhere, with no sound.  The lake was a quantity of steam very still and deep over valleys of fish and sand held baking under its serene vapors.  Tar was poured licorice in the streets, red bricks were brass and gold, roof tops were paved with bronze.  The high-tension wires were lightning held forever, blazing, a threat above the unslept houses.

The cicadas sang louder yet louder.

The sun did not rise, it overflowed.

~ Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

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