all is
silent
save for
the faint
humming
chirping
of cicadas
in the
distance.
lazy summer
sunday afternoon
but an
odd
sense of
foreboding
as if
disaster –
like a
slithering serpent –
makes its
way
through the
undergrowth:
quietly portentous,
rearing up
to strike,
unsuspected.
little earthquakes
shifting
beneath us,
change whistling
faintly
on the
breeze.
what dangers
what omens
what signs
are these
in summer’s
heat
in its
glare
that dare
to shake
our composure;
or are
we just
starting
at shadows
scaring ourselves
over
nothing?
The Darker Side of Me 