These fields turned first ochre and then barren,
when the gods returned.
Slow to anger but utterly perturbed by what they found,
these majesties, occasionally merciless,
sent a silent sigh
across these previously fruitful lands.
The heat lasted for weeks,
paralyzing creature and critters,
returning kin to savage tribes.
No wind or rain in sight, still,
only heat wallowing among us
until all resistance turns to dust.
Even if the gods aren’t angry,
these days, it seems, they have returned,
to harness humility among men.
Autumn will arrive at last,
but will the harvest consist of more
than raisins or wine
and a foreboding of exile?