Fleeting Seasons

The last desperate cry of the cicadas fill the air as the wind kicks up, dashing all my hopes of a lasting summer. Fleeting waves of heat flash through my head. A time where you and I lounged like lizards upon rocks, soaking up the sun in the sweltering heat passes by within an instant. My carefully composed grin falters, replaced by a cold mask of fear, but I quickly regain composure and move along, the cicadas buzzing frantically above me, beneath me, beside me.

But the cicadas are growing louder and more desperate to be heard, and soon, they will be gone.