"blind summer in the open windows at dusk with the wind and the crickets drenching the air but different in the way i can hear the night field harvesting and the dry leaves swirling like a fire. i shed my shoes and the grass was damp, the leaves dry and warm. a faint tanline wrapped around the wrist where my lollapalooza wristband used to be. i could hear summer, the fuel of my soul, fading."
-THE LAST DAY OF INDIAN SUMMER / Rachel Bushong / October 2014