The heat hung in the air like wet cotton today.
The Texas dance of August has begun.
The manicured lawns will all soon be patched brown.
Even the humming of cicadas has gone still.
Venus burns ever so brightly racing me to dawn.
The majestic Oaks stand still as Centurion guards.
At my core the keen edge of Joy bids me come.
I reach for the poetry that fills my heart.