A cicada lays on its back, legs wriggling in the air. There seem to be a lot of dead semi today. These little bodies are the symptoms of the mortality of summer.
One has affixed itself to my front door. I'll leave it there for awhile, not only as a lesson in impermanence, but as a reminder of how to live life: short, but screaming loudly to the fullest.
On the turntable: Tenor Conclave, "Four Tenor Saxes"
On the turntable: Tenor Conclave, "Four Tenor Saxes"
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