Summer Approaches
All along the Mid-Atlantic, spring flowers are dying off, replaced by glossy foliage, the leaves almost fake-seeming in their newness, like freshly extruded plastic. The dogwood blooms are yellowed at the ears. The magnolias drop their petals in great heaps onto the bus shelter roof.
Other blooms take their place in the yearly succession. Wisteria vine strangles porch balustrades with a lacy fringe. Hydrangeas lean out of weedy backlots, already overburdened with cloudy inflorescence, blue or purple depending on the soil chemistry, while the sky itself is a vacant milky blue. A single cloud threads through it.
The sun umbrellas are up on the brewery patio. Men in early middle age cluster in front of their beverages. They talk about mortgages and baseball. They talk about the genetic diseases of dogs their children request. A slight breeze passes along the sidewalk. It rustles the hydrangeas, rakes the dried petals on the pavement, a little movement on a lazy afternoon—(the temperature ten degrees above average)—a little movement, not much, but some.
