Baked birds fall from the sky. I mean, they could, just a little more heat, and – splat ! Nothing moves. All is silent. No man made sounds : No cars in the village street, no trains rumbling by in the distance, no aeroplanes scratching the sky, no emergency helicopters ; no one going out with the dog, or hanging around the village puddle – not even the always reliable do-it-yerself-idiot-with-the-hammer, usually a trusted source of noise, especially on Sunday afternoons or any day’s evenings – no : Nothing.
Just heat. Pan sleeps, too knackered from nymph hunting. If this is good enough for the old semi-goat, is is good enough for me.
Sol Invictus
63 mago 
Roast chicken falling from the sky – have your plate ready to catch it.
It is humid here, yet cool enough for the dog to be taken for a romp.
Sx
So usually you are a nymph hunter? Aha!
Plates – ta – im Schlaraffenland the roast chicken fly into my mouth, dear MsScarlet ! No romp around here, the Franconian dog stays in the shade today,
Meanwhile the light changed, the sky filled with clouds, and the hot air is in motion – one better not stands in its way.
I’m more of a sleepy old bacchus these days, Anna, dearest …
Bacchus? Not Silvaner as usual?
So…you are having your summer in one “hit” Good to get it over and done with. ;-)
Ich lass’ die Waldgeister ruh’n bei der Hitze, Anna.
I fear it was just the general rehearsal for things to come Dinahmow. The hottest days are still before us.