It's hot, we're home

IT’S HOT, WE’RE HOME (E A D F# A E, capo 4)

It’s hot, we’re home. Sitting in the garden singing songs. White butterflies like blushing brides appear in every backyard along the east coast.

It’s hot, we’re here. Waiting for the wind to turn. But in the meantime we’ll enjoy the sunshine.

And it feels so different now. Like the world has turned around. We are home and it is hot.

 

The BOM has offered a sincere apology for confusion or uncertainty about its recent naming controversy.

But have nothing to say about the heat or the torrents of water pouring down the street. I don’t believe what they tell me anyway.

And it feels so odd now. Like the world has spun around. We are home and it is hot.

 

A ladybug, red as the moon, scurries across the concrete.