The August blues are back.
Back in the summer sky, which is just beginning to turn the deepest of deep blues that will come in October.
Soft, blowy clouds float by as I gaze toward the horizon. Thunderheads will replace them later this afternoon.
It’s the last weekend in July, after all.
This time of year, even the world’s best weatherman seems no better able to forecast a pop-up thunderstorm than hanging a rock on a string outside your window and watching to see when it gets wet.
Mama deer and her two baby deer were spotted again last night. They are living somewhere in the high grass at the edge of the lawn.
Cute things, but neighbor Bill hates them. Or says he does. He’s caught them more than once helping themselves to his vegetables.
Bill is somewhere north of 80. He raises a huge garden every year, then invites everyone in town to stop by and pick all they want.
I suspect he’s just grumbling about the deer, long as they don’t eat too much.
Deer gotta eat, too.
Temperatures that have teased 100 all week have dropped a few degrees just in time for the weekend. Ditto for the humidity.
It’s rare Mother Nature serves up a treat like this during the Dog Days of Summer, and I am determined to take advantage of her generosity.
I’ve pulled up my laptop under my favorite shade tree, where the cooling breezes flow best.
Such work as I will do today (and it won’t be much, because it’s Saturday. Just because I’ve retired twice already doesn’t mean I don’t still work, you know) will be done here.
Later, I’ll clean the grill and get some steaks going. Perhaps a cocktail also. And some music. Saturday summer backyard music.
Groovy, mellow music for the last July Saturday left in 2023.
You couldn’t ask for a better day to kick back and savor.
And count blessings. Always count blessings.