Walk The dusk smells like summer bugs in the weeds and I walk and walk hard against the thunderhead flickering like a Chinese lantern while a star picks up the night. The heat’s still in the earth beneath my shoes and another star picks up the night while low wind’s breath rattles the bugs in the weeds and I walk and walk hard against the thunderhead squatting on the river in a swell of Chinese lantern light. I smell summer rising in the weeds and in the dirt beneath my shoes

I force myself to walk in the mid-summer heat. American southern midwestern heat: 101 in the shade with 90% humidity. My hikes are in the woods on familiar paths. A frozen bottle of water and a camera are all that I pack. No one thinks I’m brave; everyone thinks I’m nuts. I’ve always done this sort of thing. Part of it is that I don’t want to lose my tolerance for heat (or cold) to the cozy confines of my American life. Goofy as that sounds, I guess it’s worked for I’m sti