It was a week in Augustin the dead of summer, where the sunlighttames its afternoon edge, and the cicadashowl, wondering why they’re still alive.Their skeletons, hard-baked echoes tiltedon the weathered wood of the patio railan inky crow’s beak turns them,looking for any leftover bits. In Wisconsin, the north woods, a family cabinwith mossy siding, 70’s carpet, and oily portraits…