I’m sitting at my desk with the window beside me wide open. I can hear the church bells ringing from town reminding me it’s Sunday morning and I should be in church, and look out to catch a glimpse of two little birds in the big maple yacking loudly at nothing in particular while inserting just a little whistle between squawks every now and again. My nearest neighbor’s rooster is crowing (and will NOT shut up!!), just like he does every morning.
It’s a mild 58 degrees and the lush (albeit thirsty) soybean field that stretches to the tree line in the distance is soon to be harvested — leaving nothing but a flat, brown sea of dirt. The mums that line the house will be in full bloom before you know it, and the purple clematis clinging to the back deck proudly opens to the sky… happy it didn’t get snatched up by a flower-loving 3 year-old.
The fall season is right around the corner, you guys. Now I know there are those of you that like it, I just don’t happen to be one of those people. I wish I could live in a place where summer lasted 350 days a year with temperatures in the 80-90 degree range. The remaining 15 days of the year I want tons of soft, wet snow with a hovering temp of about 32 degrees. I figure the only way I’m going to make that happen is to move way south — and fly north a couple weeks during the winter months. By myself. Because there’s no way that anyone else that would move south with me would return for snow. The ONLY thing stopping me from doing just that is a growing little human that can make my heart explode with nothing more than an excited smile. Guess I might as well brace for fall y’all.