Roused reluctant by the alarm I set; am dressed before
any real wakefulness arrives.
Here I am on the doorstep and seem prepared, so Dog
and I walk the lanes before it gets too hot.
Over the river a tube of mist thickly sits: I wonder
if the river itself is all mist. I wonder what the fish do about that.
Habit kicks into a run halfway round. Dog has that
roll to her eye that says she will oblige even though you are clearly wrong.
Perspiration reaches saturation point. Stop running,
before I turn to mist.
Comments
What have I 'mist'?
And thus, the oppressive heat. In fact, it's so humid, my fingers are sliding on the keeeyboard :)
Suze, as long as you could turn back it would be fine indeed xx