In Anticipation of Autumn (Already)

by krstaten

Sometimes the long days stretch on
far too long. Sometimes the heat
is an overbearing mother, over
our shoulders, looming, too much
work, too much toil, too much
sweat. Sometimes we crawl across
the months, sprawling like the
too-long days, waiting with too
much eagerness for everything
around us to start dying.

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