Just Something

It is June.
There is no breeze.
Heat seeps sinuously,
Snake-like,
Through the house,
Undisturbed by any importunate breeze.

I stretch my limbs,
Catlike and flexed,
In the yard
As the children in the pitched tent howl,
Their voices muted by the heavy air.

This is my home. My home.
I am happy here.
The violation of winter hovers,
Cold spectre,
On the periphery of my mind.
It cannot disturb me here.