About to Dive?

There are damselflies beneath me.

There’s a cracked treet stump off the left side of the frame.  Not particularly good for sitting.

There’s a trickling stream.  (I’ve stood in said stream before; in places, it’s almost as deep as the sole of my shoe.)

Clouds are playing games with the sun and keeping it from view, though there’s almost as much blue as white.
Promised storms make no promises to rage.

There are, perhaps, only two red flowers.

Dusk is still hours away; these are the long, hot summer days.

(I did say hot, yes?)

All the green makes me want salad with dinner.  There will be salad.

There will also be sausage.  I am not a vegeterian.

But at the moment, at this particular snap of the lens, there is only me, and the damselfies, and the trees, and a quiet stirring that wants to be a breeze when it grows up.

Tonight, there will be no thunder.  There will be only “heat” lightning, or the reflections of some faraway lightnings.  There will be no rain.  The heat will not relent.  But I will always remember the things I see, standing where I am in this frame, that you cannot.