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Fay Slimm.

Brooding

 

Brooding.

 

Days now are long and humid.

Nature gorges on swollen fruit.

 

Bees stun themselves with too

much pollen and

bluebottles die whilst fusing

with oven-hot plants.

 

Village roads bulge with streaks

of damp green while

trees grow silver-moss beards

on sticky outsides.

 

Thunder-clad rainstorm  slams

into dried puddles

but pours under ground as claps  

soon run to sultry.

 

Thatch splits when mud-stuck to roofs.

Walls become dank when water rules.

 

Atmosphere stifles small life underfoot     

as August sweats on in murky brooding.