Summer at its worst

Woke up early

Surprised by the silence

No birds chirping their head off

The sun seemed veiled

Sky is hazed

Checking on the weather app

Sunny all day

Went in the garden

Smokey air greeted me, fire,

This is summer at its worst

Lucky if the wind does not rise

It may be contained

Brought back all the memories

Of burning ridges,

Smoke as dense as fog

And the waiting days and nights

To know which way the fire would travel

Packing the essential and precious

Keeping inside children and pets

Waiting for the time that a decision

Has to be made to stay or to leave

This is summer at its worst.

 L. Bailliet copyright

20/01/2013