The fierce sun has long disappeared beyond the western horizon; and the oven-like, sweltering, super heated air that has been left in its wake in now finally starting to cool off.

A faint cool breeze can be felt slightly fluttering against the thirsty skin, whispering as it rustles through the leaves of the oak trees that stand there, outlined against a growing twilight sky, which is filled and covered with thick fluffy clouds. Clouds within which rain drops are hatched and deposited. Even the birds which have been hiding out in their nests have once again taken flight, soaring amidst the thermals formed by the departing furnace-like air and the in-rushing cooler artic stream which descends through the blanket of moisture laden clouds.

And I care that I can see the lights of the airplanes as they soar across the sky, leaving contrails of spent gases in their wake across the cloudy sky. Catching that occasional twinkle of a distant star or two when there are unexpected breaks in that cover above.

The minds is distracted by the appearance of voices in the near vicinity but there is no sight of the owners. Just a sense that they are slowly approaching from the left, their voices engaged in some earnest conversation. Unintelligible, partly from the distance heard, the aging and weakening of the hearing mechanism and the fact that they are actually speaking another language. Identifying their background, heritage and culture. A feeling of peace invades.

The physicality of the speakers and late evening strollers comes into view and slowly disappears from sight and hearing by the line of vision and hearing of the observer; carried away by the wings of the wind which has since picked up some strength and is now practically shaking the leaves and branches of the thankful trees which sway and dance in delight as the rushing breezes brushes past without so much as a, howdy. Wait no! That is actually the sound of noises of the city floating along on the waves of the passing breezes and merging into one enormous backdrop of sounds, and tones, pitches and depths. Flowing off into deep space unharnessed, unguided, unnoticed. Obviously, people are out on their porches, sitting or playing in their backyards, soaking up and enjoying the invigorating sensation that the northen winds spill in the wake as they rush on off with nary a care in the world.

Damn!

Bloody insect, bit me! So much for mother nature tonight ....

Slowly and easily the mind slips readily into distraction, absorbing and blending with the meandering flow of the idle thoughts this night. The speeding vehicle races to a rolling stop at the intersection across the way - before rushing off towards the driver's unknown destination.

Attention refocuses on the immediate surroundings. Interspersed rows of street lights lend witness to the fact that the neighbourhood itself is relatively young, no older than the trees which line the usually quite suburban street. Widely spaced lamps themselves, mingling with the evening shadows that are cast across the open spaces of the earlier sunbaked sidewalks which lay between the lights and heavily foliaged but now drooping rows of trees. Punctuated here and there with Stop signs, erected with the apparent intent of slowing the pace around the area somewhat. The trees offering shade and ambiance while the stop signs regulate the flow by which that atmosphere is expected to be maintained; as possibly visualised developer and local residents as an area or quiet repose. Certainly not a thoroughfare.

Strangely enough, there appears to be an unsual amount of traffic in the area this night. Like the night is cool enough to brave the outdoors and tour the neighbourhood which just scant months ago was representative of a northern city clutched in the snowy grips of a Mother Nature's hissy-fit, the likes of which had not been seen by the passing and upcoming generations in several well documented years. Even Father Nature had the good sense to stay well of his better-half this time around.

And Spring, the flighty sprite with her dazzling smile and colourful garments and adornments, which required early use of shaded eyewear, made a reluctant entrance. Bursting into the occasional round of tears but not enough to make anyone to truly weary of her child-like tantrums. So welcomed was she that garlands and branches quickly sprung out all about to proclaim joy and merriment at her very arrival. Voices raised in joy and laughter. Music filing the air. Birds and butterflies dotting the air with graceful flights, multiple hues of colour and spectular forms.

Ushered in by overworked Summer, preoccupied with numerous tasks to be accomplished before the sun turns cold again. Fogetful that more rain is needed to quench the parching thirst which accompanies his presence; as well as his obligation to see that the giants of the land are not darkened by his often overwhelming presence against their crowns. Consquently, as a result of being so absentminded this year he has allowed the furnace door to swing loose, unattended; which resulted in a sudden and really unexpected and sustained blast across the valleys and pastures, the hills and dales of Mother Nature's bread baskets that there is going to be hell to pay when she returns later on in the year.

But the year is still young. Perhaps he will recover quickly later on and devise some sort of plan between him and Fall that would serve to keep Mother Nature away longer than usual on her annual trips. The boy is not all that bad.

Back to passing vehicles again. Now, what was the purpose of those stop signs at the intersection of all the quiet side streets about again? Ah yes! Repose. Rest and relaxation from the daily hectic pace of earning a buck to end up paying two bucks to the next person you ask a favour of next time around. Viscious little cycles they soon become.