Atlantic September

September is still settling in, tweaking and sweeping and adjusting, and maybe it's because August is reluctant to go that the seasons seem to collide. The humid air coats leaves and skin and the very ground with a sticky sheen. All the trees shine with life. Meanwhile, the humans grow sluggish. They drag their feet, breathe in tired pantings, wipe their glistening brows, groan and complain. The rain comes, but the heat stays stubbornly. Lightning flashes across the dark sky and the lagging thunder rumbles after it. Water pours from the heavens, clouds boil invisibly above the world, but the heat never changes. We live in a world of steam and sweat, praying for fall to come.