Galleria di Rina

The task force update just landed and severe drought spread to three more counties — my wells called it weeks ago. Can't sleep, can't think, gave up on everything else an hour ago. Would you tell me to stop?

Rain stopped and the chanterelles came up like someone flipped a switch. Nothing between me and this moss and I don't want to put anything back on. Come find me?

The first foliage report drops Wednesday and I've already got every weekend through October mapped out on my bed. This flannel was fully buttoned when I started. Want to help me pick a trail?

Found a lake with nobody on it and the water's still warm enough to pretend summer isn't over. My clothes are on that rock back there and I'm not in a hurry to go get them. Come swim with me?

First morning that actually feels like September — trail's empty and my basket's filling up fast. The flannel was buttoned when I left the car. You should see what this light is doing right now.

Forty dry wells across fifteen counties and I drove out to check mine — the reader came up blank. Sit with me out here?

The fall outlook just dropped and every map is still pointing the wrong way. Couldn't sleep, so I'm out on the fire escape with the warm air and the stars and nothing else on. Come sit with me?

Drove out before the sky started thinking about color — fifty-six on the dash and the heater's on for the first time since April. Still wearing what I slept in. Come take the passenger seat?

The air finally dropped below sixty and my window's been open since sundown. Still damp from the shower and every gust gives me goosebumps. Come warm me up?

The humidity finally dropped low enough to breathe and I walked outside and just didn't come back in. The grass is cool against my back and the sky's going dark and I don't want to put anything else on. Come find me before the stars come out.