Nightfall

It is finally here. I open the bedroom window. It is foggy, and a somewhat musty smelling breeze wipes my face. Its like breathing the dank air of mushrooms in some basement corner. And I am still feeling sweaty in the cool air. And listening to tree frogs. And crickets. And an occasional owl. Somewhere beyond that, I hear a nervous horse. Some even more distant dog barks. Solitary cars pass every minute or so. The rise and fall of the sound of their wheels on the highway is like a lazy surf on sand. The slow circling blades of the ceiling fan in the darkness sound like some fluttering bird wings. I hear the distant hum of the old refrigerator motor laboring and busy as a bee on a flower. I lay spread eagle on the sheets as though crucified by Summer. In a few months I will be cursing Winter under heavy blankets, curled into a shivering fetal ball.