A Word from the Editor

What can we say about a Midwest summer?

We could say it’s hot, but sometimes it’s not. Sometimes, it’s sweltering, heat rippling off the blacktop in waves like it can’t get off the asphalt fast enough. Other times, a cool breeze caresses your cheeks, the back of your knees, and you wonder if maybe spring has come around again or if fall is getting impatient.

We could tell you about mosquitos and wasps and ants (thousands and thousands of ants), but we could also tell you about the rhythmic, pulsating drone of cicadas as the sun sets burnt orange in the sky or the gentle twinkle of fireflies at dusk.

We could show you pictures of the summer fair, of the food truck festival on Main Street. We could share stories of barbecues and late-night swims, of rolling clouds and thunderstorms, of weekend trips to the lake and quiet moments on the river, our lines cast deep in muddy water.

As with everything in this region, summer in the Midwest is hard to define. It means something different to everyone, but it’s all art. It’s all poetry in motion, ever-changing, often hard to capture with the right word, but these Midwest artists have done their best to provide you their own little Polaroid of what summer means to them.

So, grab your favorite drink, dust off that lounge chair buried in your garage, and enjoy this issue, Of Rust and Glass’s ninth: “Summer.”