Late Summer

The air is thick and humid. If I had one more drink, one more, I’ll bet I could swim up into the night, right on up to the moon. The moon is hazy and the stars are faint in the heavy atmosphere. It’s like they are all sleepy.

But the insects are not sleepy. Their songs rise and fall and rise again in rowdy insistent crescendos, one after another, drowning out the monotonous hum of my neighbor’s air conditioner.

In a dark corner of the yard the final firefly of the summer glimmers in vain. And glimmers again, faintly.

For a moment I forget my way to bed.