She breathes deep the sounds of her hot Texas sun in summer. The cicada in chorus, the city sounds and hot sidewalks close by. The nettle, the long grass she hates to cut, keeping in conformity. She thinks of the work ahead, so much she wants to do. And in her silent sweating she drifts, tom and ziggy humming faintly, barely reaching her sun-kissed smiles as-she dreams softly of nines and cowboys and the water. Her shoulders ease and breathe quickens and spirit yearns lost in so much so fast. But she denies and waits.