Always there is the false heat - the October afterbirth that lingers for days. The lake walkers swarm one last time, feigning ignorance. Defiant in t-shirts and shorts, they walk the paths with strollers and dogs, ignoring the soft scrapes and shuffling whispers of the dead, masquerading as fallen leaves. In the end, though, the dead always show their true selves.
The promise of blood spilt on schoolyard tarmac brings a taste of Bradbury and memory of dandelion wine.
