Summer (a short story)

It was so hot, even the scorpions were scurrying for cover.  The baked earth cracked under the heat and shimmered in the distance.

There was no comfort offered from clouds. The sky was as clear as glass.

He stood on his perch, surveying the ground around him. A single weed fought for sustenance, but it was loosing its battle and curling up as it withered and died. This was not a good summer.

The autumn had brought rain, so heavy at times that the earth could no longer soak it up. Rivers of red ran over the field, poured into the road and disappeared down storm drains. And when the winter had come, it had brought snow and ice that solidified the ground and hidden it in a blanket of white.

Spring was more forgiving. The farmers had talked of a good harvest, and the gentle sun thawed the earth and gave life to seeds. Acres of corn spread out before him, and his job had been hard with the wildlife that was attracted.

When the April showers stopped, things changed. Day by day, the temperature rose and the crops began to die. They had already drawn from the earth what little moisture it held, and when the water had gone, so had their future.

Now there was just baked earth left. For sixty days, the heat had held fast. The farmer was heard saying that the worst draught in history had only be forty two days. He hadn't been able to protect his crop.

The scarcrow looked down to his ground, the sweltering heat had baked his rags to a crisp around his straw body. He creaked when he moved. He longed for the rain as much as the earth did. It would wash away his stiffness and soak him through. His straw would once again expand and his breathing would be easy again. The sun was killing the ground just as it was killing him.

Twelve days later, when the rain finally arrived, it came with such force that the scarcrow was ripped from his porch. Being laid out on the floor, his body soaked up the water, but there was no longer any life in him to revive. As the torents of water streamed over the hard baked ground, slipping through the cracks to the softer earth deep below, life was beginning again. The earth would come back.

But for him, there was nothing. His time was over, and he had returned to the ground from where he came.