Shabby

September has come, but it is only chronological. The landscape does not change. The landscape of Texas in summer reminds me of northeastern winters - no color, no life except for the truly hardy, and no vibrancy.

The few flowers which have survived the unrelenting heat and lack of rain seem anemic and as faded as a 20 year-old silk corsage tucked into the bottom of a matron's hope chest. Even the crape myrtle which are still blooming lack vibrancy. It seems as though they have been washed in hot water and bleach. Faded and wan, the blooms seem to be disappearing into a monochromatic world.

The lawns which are watered are green and yet they are drab. Even still there are patches of brown, especially along sidewalks and driveways where the concrete soaks up the sun and radiates heat twenty-four hours a day. The trees live, and the flowers exist, but they are not flourishing. They look as tired as I feel.

This is late summer in Texas. Where the only color is the brightness of the sky. And yet I long for clouds. A gray day in this gray landscape is actually a blessing. It seems unfair that the sky is so blue and the sun is so bright when everything else lacks luster.

I cannot wait for it to end.