Atlanta, 88° and thick — the pollen's done but the air still wears you like a coat you can't take off. Along Ponce de Leon the mimosas have thrown their pink filaments into air that won't cool until October, the cicadas tuning up underground like an orchestra that knows it has months to play. Tha an samhradh a' tighinn le fhiaclan — summer is coming with its teeth.
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