Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Upside down leaves

So it begins, on a day the leaves turn upside down, awaiting the watering they're about to get. Even though the day started out fine I really didn't hold much hope. The feel of the warm sun was nice, but I knew it wouldn't last. And sure enough, on my way home from work, I see the leaves. All upside down.

Mannnnn I wish it would stop raining. I'm usually one for puddles. (I believe I've inherited my grandfathers irresistible attraction to them.) But I think I got stuck in the muck and its just not fun anymore.

One parched summer, I stood in the barn doorway with the farmer I worked for. Not to avoid rain, but to find cooling shade. We were worried the corn wouldn't grow, just too damn dry. Then it happened. First a small pitter patter, and as it grew more steady I laughed harder and harder. There in the barnyard I watched a grown man dance in the rain. Right about now I'd dance for a few solid days of sun.

Every where is mud. Aussie dog does ok, but Shady Lady, boy she's always covered and never comes in until she's satisfied her fur has soaked up enough to cover the entire house.
The hay is rotting in the field, good thing the horse has a winter home or he'd have nothing to eat. I think he's onto something in that area. Warmer climate for the winter, away from the snow belt he's currently grazing on. At least a snow belt from what we're told. We haven't actually experience it yet. Come to think of it, the only season we've experienced since moving here, is what must have been spring, despite the calendar saying August. Yippy us.

This is my first letter to nowhere. My virtual existence in the world. And all I'm doing today is trying to stay dry and cleaning up mud, again. still. forever it seems.

1 comment:

Bon said...

welcome to the wonderful world of virtual existence...which is almost never letters to nowhere, in the end. :)

this is really vivid. i feel you on the willingness to dance for a day of sun, though i guess for us it's not a matter of things rotting, only weariness of all the gray.