Wilted under the weight of arid heat the Caliegratha lies low.
She nests under branches and the air moves.
Warm breath expelled and returned.
Caliegratha knows this season.
She neither frets or fights.
One lies down in this season.
One drinks when it can.
One waits for the thunderous shaking of air.
When it stirs Caliegratha rises to meet her new mate.
With hot passion they create.
Then comes the dry time.
Caliegratha knows her place.
(About writers block. Featured Images are photographs by Edward Weston)