Our neighbor lady didn’t like the heat, never will.
By noon I reach the edge of town.
Taking the trail by the river, dandelions tickle my socks.
The water slips over the pebbles, obeys the rule of God,
Knows what speed it needs to make to get to the ocean by dark.
Engrossed in its work it asks no questions.
The sky tries again to explain the weather's reasoning,
But I fail to respond as though ignorant
The white fingernail atop Peach-Finger Mountain keeps my chin lifted up.
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