I thought I would write more this summer, since I have more access to the on-line world now, but I haven't. Much of my time has been spent sitting on the back deck, watching the wildlife and the lake and how it changes as the light changes.
But then it started getting hot. I mean, HOT, as in summer in Texas hot. Upper nineties, near 100 or a little above 100 degrees every day. Even in the evenings, the temps lingered in the upper 80s, and with such humidity that sitting outside was not comfortable for long.
So I retreated to the air-conditioned in-doors, and continued my watching under the cooling breeze of the window unit, and an almost unobstructed view, thanks to the twenty five feet of windows across the back of the cabin.
Then...suddenly...a cool front came through, bringing with it wind and rain. It's hard to believe, I know, for anyone who has lived in Texas in the summer, but I actually needed a lap quilt this morning.
It rained almost all morning. Huge lightening strikes and rumbling, growling thunder, as well as sudden thunderclaps that made me jump and made Frankie the Pom bark like a mad thing.
The lake was covered with whitecaps, and the branches of the trees bent and swayed as if they were dancing.
It's mid-afternoon now, and still in the 70s. Unbelievable. Precious time to enjoy being outside again, before the dog days of August arrive. Precious time to be at peace with nature and myself.
Time to ponder a question inspired by Antique Mommy's question: what would your autobiography be titled, if you were going to write one? I came up with one I consider appropriate, given all that has happened in the past seven months: "I Should Have Left a Trail of Bread Crumbs: Where Did My Life Go, and How Do I Get It Back?"