One's mind wanders when the summer's heat arrives. A shaded porch,
A beverage foster meditation, though not progress toward enlightenment.
The tree's leaves sway to unfelt breezes. In them, birds don't sing. They
Gossip. In a corner of the yard, the corpse of what had been a lovely
Tree, a maple from Japan, contrasts with the abundant life which

Flourishes as if to mock it. Out of pity, I'll remove it, but not now.

It's too damned hot, and my mind's wandering.