August in LA is silent.
Like a Midwestern morning after a long night of snow.
My windows are open, but no breezes blow.
Everything is perfectly still.
Dry heat presses down on us like an insulation blanket.
Protecting us from the sound of one another.
Dogs don’t bark. Birds don’t sing. Children are taking long naps.
Surely, people walk by our house on the way to the beach.
Perhaps they tiptoe and whisper their words.
Cars don’t start, alarms don’t sound.
Where has the ice cream truck gone?
Ice cubes in my tea avoid each other, afraid of breaking the spell.
Somewhere close by a wildfire is raging, sucking the landscape into its maw.
Still I don’t hear a thing.
This city of millions is silent, and I am completely alone.