The street had a
hot mist rising from it seconds after the rain stopped. It only rose a couple
of feet before being sucked back into the asphalt. I remained inside where the
temp was a cool seventy-nine air conditioned degrees as I watched out of a
window and watched as the world burned. Once vibrant flowers drooped and fell
to the ground their life cut short. I wondered if they felt the agonizing
death? There was a stray dog lapping up what was once a puddle now a race with
his tongue for the last few drops. A blackbird perched on a small branch seemed
to be bouncing as if it was trying not to just fall off and fall to the ground
below. There was condensation on the window I was looking through and I pressed
my lips to it in need of something wet and cool. Guess I could have just opened
a bottle of water but then I wouldn’t have been able to write this.www.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
www.michaeloconnorwriter.com
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