" ... outracing the storm-wind / We leap to the infinite dark like the sparks from the anvil."

It has, as usual, been an odd year weatherwise -- botanists have cited the overwarm spring for bringing saguaro to bloom earlier than usual, and for longer. I don't know whether the weather can be blamed as well for mesquites and acacias dropping their drying seedpods a few weeks before their usual time.

    Under mesquite trees,
pods scattered on the sidewalk
    crunch beneath my feet --
crackles more satisfying
than walking through autumn leaves.

I'm pretty sure, however, the heat can be blamed for cicadas waking up early.

    In the row of oaks
outside an office building,
    cicadas announce
a matinee performance
of the great zerEEEEEE Chorus.

Beyond a doubt, the heavy wildfires are due to the drought, and the heat, and the winds. Every few days, the distant scent of burning pines reaches the city, from some new fire.

    Backlit by sunset,
a plume of wildfire smoke
    glows gold and purple --
thousands of acres burnt to
a ribbon across the sky.

But then, it wouldn't be high summer without cicadas screeing in scathing heat. Or scattered clouds loitering like bored kids over the distant mountain ranges. Or this slowly rising humidity that keeps nights from really cooling off. Soon, the monsoon thunderstorms will arrive.

Soon.

---L.