Deep night

In the summer, there is no depth to night. It comes but doesn't last. It blooms like that flower over there, that Chinese plant's flower (if it's raised in America isn't it American though?) which comes and departs, leaving only its magnificent scent for the night, which we're back to again.

Many things go awry in the night, but in the summer, there's not enough room for that. The summer saves us, for some it breaks us. Summer is a season, just like oregano is, a, well, you know. It doesn't change too much of what lies under, but it can make it taste like it's not there. And when it's rice, though, really there's not much there but the usual. So sometimes what's there is the usual.

And there's the summer. But when the rain comes, that sucks, and the rain comes and drenches everything, yes, drenches, quenches the thirst of the grass... sometimes the raindrops, though, they're big enough to crush an earthworm. Or an ant. Don't you wonder if they ever do that?

Wonder where the gnats hide.

The summer sun heals pain if you let it. It increases pain if you let it.

I love the summer sun.