The earth is parched and cracked in places, the only thing green in the lawn is the cursed bindweed that is so determined on life that no doubt its roots have driven miles deep to find some untapped water source. While it thrives the grass has withered, turning a crisp beige, bleached by the ever present sun.
Around us the trees seem to stoop, their boughs hanging limply, leaves draped and listless, their fresh bright summer green turned leathery and dull. We are grateful for their cool shade, for the protection that their canopy provides us, sun charred as it is, we wouldn’t be without them. I keep looking at the cloudless sky and willing it to rain, the poor trees look so, so thirsty and I worry about the strain they’re under. But my begging comes to naught and the sky stays resolutely blue.
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