A Cool Morning In Mid August by Laughingpoet

A cool morning in mid August has the quietude that follows a rain storm except for the distant white noise of highway traffic. There is no breeze, the air is filled with a light mist so that everything I see resembles a faded photograph. My mind is empty in the early morning stillness. No wildlife is visible, only the wet lawns and the trees against a dull slate blue sky. A few cirrocumulus clouds that look as muddled as my mind hang in confusion above me. I continue and pass a basketball and boulder, both discarded by the road, maybe reminiscing on exciting adventures from their pasts. The only scent in the air is that of fresh laundry from a darkened home. I hear a lone cardinal chit a warning, “Go back!” Across the road, I pass another walker and we solemnly give each other a silent cursory wave. Around the corner, I am suddenly blinded by the blazing frying pan of the rising sun and I turn back toward the coolness behind me. A bird flies over racing for cover. From a nearby tree, invisible crows caw their harsh laughs. I pass prairie onion flowers that lean listlessly. Further on, rose mallow flowers are still wrapped up in dreams, awaiting the sun. I slowly and unsteadily trudge toward a growing ocean of traffic before turning back toward the peace of home.