Sumer is icumen in, and faint eddies of ambivalence have begun to swirl along the Texas coast.
We love our summers, but despite the season’s delights, we know we’ll soon enough become limp and bedraggled as this poor prickly poppy.
Since we can’t do a thing to change the coming heat and humidity, it’s best to find some ways to cope. Humor always helps, so what could be better than a little tongue-in-cheek tribute to our annual tribulation?
stalking and sliding
down slick, flattened grasses;
silently digging through wind
rippled dunes; sighing and dripping
sharp, salt-laden dross onto springtime —
that delicate season, long hoped-for, now doomed.