Summer

You can see the heat through the window, the way the blades of grass vibrate in the wind, signaling satellites and waiting for a savior. Waiting for the water to keep their youth, push away the inevitability of decay, feed the future. The tall ones huddle in tiny clusters, recognizing their importance over the stubs, but yielding to the choking presence of beautiful weeds. There is a hierarchy in everything, the only variable is the violence required to establish it.