Ode to Phoenix in Summer

Waves of heat dance off the pavement, ominous vipers hissing, "don't passsss by here..." The neighboring cactus, equally uninviting: "Do not touch. Do not touch. Do not touch..." The few green growing things, they all have claws. "I am not food. I won't be harvested. I am not food." The sun-- elsewhere mother of all-- works here to push life away. "Do not plant. Do not sow. Do not plant. Do not grow." Driving all life inside; to shade, to cover, a forced-air shelter, a man-made … [Read more...]