It’s very hot.

Not a cloud in the sky, just the sun burning down without mercy. Only the occasional car or lawnmower breaks the summer silence: the kids are hiding out in air-conditioned comfort; it’s too fierce out save for the truly dedicated. The birds are panting in the trees.

The world seems suspended and I like it. Heatwaves make the world slow and still.

Quiet.

It’s different from the snowy day quiet that muffles everything and contracts the universe as sound waves are slowed to a soundwave crawl.

Snowfall quiet is heavy. Determinedly peaceful. Patient.

I don’t get a patient vibe from the quiet of summer.

It’s edgy. Anticipatory. Happy. Clicky. The last is from the grasshoppers that dance around in the brown grass. Such a summery sound.

The leaves are dying.

The trees are conserving their energy. The plant life is not a fan of the hot summer days.

The big ones have started to drop their seeds. A potential forest in the backyard. Smaller trees are also showing signs of distress. That’s my fault. I never think to water the dogwood until the leaves start to shrivel.

I hate the guilt. Next year I’ll buy a watering bag, I swear. Unfortunately, because I skipped the purchase this year, I’m watering illegally. Sprinklers are technically banned but I’m too lazy to stand out in the sun, tending to my tree for an hour.

I feel bad about that but not bad enough to pick up the hose.

Night rises and I sit in the dark. Something about hot nights makes me loathe to turn on the lights.

Nighttime quiet is different again. It feels full and heavy. I can feel the silent presence of the sleepers when I step carefully about the house. I like wandering in the wee small hours. Nighttime quiet is full of potential.