Summer of Love

Afternoon is a time when the axes cut in shadows, pendulum, slow, the sun's gaudy execution of smoldered cement. What they call the sweet release of death is, as the roads might tell you, as cool as a lemonade's summer sweat, but swift, also. So swift, in a moment the cracked and boiling roads forget to die and burn alive. But for this we forgive them, because we love to be going, and it is our shadows which kill.