They’re a dead give-away
The chorus of cicadas in the suffocating bleached dawn.
Ominous. Oppressive. Overwhelming.
The heat is coming.
The chorus of cicadas in the suffocating bleached dawn.
Ominous. Oppressive. Overwhelming.
The heat is coming.
Even Milo cuts short his walk
He and the birds are panting and it's not six o'clock yet
And the ground is sweating
I thoroughly water my brave plants.
The few which survived the last heatwave are still singed
"Hang in there. See you at the end of the day. I'll bring water"
The house is dark.
Colourful sarongs adorn the windows.
Keep cool at any cost...
Out, out damn heat!
I rather like them.
They add an exotic air – a mysterious air.
Like a Bedouin camp.
Belonging to a tanned Lawrence of Arabia, maybe?
What am I saying?
It must be the heat talking.
For frivolity in the heat helps...
It must be the heat talking.
For frivolity in the heat helps...
...Helps me face more dawns
Heralded by a chorus of cicadas...
© 2013 Francesca Muir
Oh, I love this! the sweet light through the curtains made by pareos and sarongs, flowers in small bottles along the window..Great, beautiful, poetic post!
ReplyDeleteThank you Malyss - I am not sure they provide much insulation - but I love the light through them!. Fx
ReplyDeleteI can feel the heat Fran, beautiful....I am mad on cicadas, reminds me of summers in Provence.
ReplyDeleteLove Millie xx
Thank you Millie - it's how amazing how cicadas paint a different sound for everyone - amazing little insects. Fx
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely brilliant words and sentiments and photos - and of the delicate fabrics and colours. Superb. You are a gifted daughter indeed. Love Mum
ReplyDeleteAw thank you Mum. Love you Fxx
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