Midsummer in Savannah silence under the great magnolia trees, blue bliss beneath the rustling leaves. It was July, after all, @glossfang.
Restless aphids surveyed the buttonbush with cursory displeasure, burdened by wings too fragile to carry them elsewhere but the plains and he, burdened likewise by unfortunate circumstance, sat listlessly among them. He watched with dull envy as they filled their throats with what vestiges of dew remained and shimmied their hirsute backs with silent contentment, bitterly lusting for the simplicity in which they so seamlessly existed. Jesse drove the toe of his boot further into the sodden earth; and beneath his arid breath, cursed the sun and sweltering summer heat — this damnable locale nestled within the devil’s bosom somewhere between fertile prairie and swampland.
As did the fauna, so did the women the humidity made them restless in their bustles and naturally, they sought relief by way of tormenting their thicker-brained counterparts. The men could do nothing but suffer the lashings of their impatient tongues, wordlessly hoping the satin shades of their parasols might alleviate some modicum of ire and spare them further torment.
[ ... ] The cicadas screamed. A rogue wind blew back his chestnut hair and the limbs of the magnolia shivered with delight.
"Ain't you got somethin' better t'do, girl..?" Tobacco tongue seeped in molasses clicked against the backs of his teeth; hands clad in cowhide leather tugged the brim of his hat over his eyes. His back rests against the peeling, portentous bark.
He could tell by both the taffeta of her skirts and the gentle curl of her hair that she was no barmaid. "Yer daddy's gonna come an' put a bullet in my head if he sees you talkin' to me and I ain't feel like gettin' shot today."
