The hot air hangs like a heavy curtain. The lilac bushes are all done blooming leaving just their flower clusters brown and brittle on the branches. The grape vines cling to the lilacs, little green spirals twisting as tight as they can. The sour smell of the roses (browning at the edges, too many days past booming) weighs the air down further. The hazy sky casts no shadows but it bears down on you just the same, beads of sweat tracing the nape of your neck. The smell of smoke rolls in with the hot breeze and you know the rain will follow soon after.
ENTER