Swing Bridge

Hazy clammy night. A blood red moon hung on the horizon. The pelicans' departure, a sign that summer has ended. This time of the year the grass is burnt brown and would crackle under your footstep.

Everything is green, jungle green. Some nights we surrender and turn on the air conditioning just to get out from under the humidity.

I am lulled to sleep by the hum of a ceiling fan.