92º ~ rain to the north and west of us, not likely to head our way, the skies already lightening from dense gray to hazy blue, angry at being passed over again
In case you've missed my quite obvious obsession, I do not do well with long stretches of extreme weather. This past spring, we had flooding rains for weeks and weeks, which included the unprecedented closure of the interstate between Little Rock and Memphis. Now, we have record breaking heat. Yesterday, we topped out at 114º before the heat index was calculated. Today, we are supposed to get to 106º. I've lost track of the number of 100+º days.
As I set about writing a draft for today, I couldn't shake my obsession. As I sat at the desk with my BIC (butt-in-chair), staring at the sad leaves on the tree outside my window, I noticed something. No cicadas. I have no idea if they are gone for the season or not, but they've been my accompanists these past weeks, and now, silence. Thus began my drafting.
Listen. Today the cicadas are silent.
No drilling, persistent rattle,
but plenty of perfect skin-forms
still cling to the siding and trees.
(Eerily, just as I typed the above, I began to hear the cicadas again...I hope I haven't angered the cicada gods, as I'm not fond of the little buggers or their skins.)
The poem became "Inventing a Rain Spell" as the speaker went about collecting the skins and creating her own ritual to get it to rain. The poem alternates between single-line stanzas and tercets, beginning and ending on single lines.
For something prettier, I finished my journal today. Here's what it looks like. BTW: I realize there's some thing going around the internet about "putting a bird on it" and how women should stop doing that. Well, pppppplllllllllbbbbbbbbbbbttttttt (raspberries) to that. I love birds and I won't stop just because some hipster thinks they've become a cliche. So there.