It’s finally raining – and hailing? ooo - after a day of ominous clouds and dancing leaves on the trees. Which I wished for all day, because the oregano could use water, as could the blue spruce saplings on the deck. And when you know rain is coming, at some point, it feels all wasteful to water.
The only problem is that the dog is on the verge of a panic attack with all the thunder. And I don’t even mean Bender. Poor, aging Bailey.
Also, the satellite is occasionally “searching for service” while Survivor records. Which is completely unacceptable.
All of a sudden when you look out into the backyard, you can no longer see the sloping farmland past the woods. All you see are the woods. It looks kind of magical in there. Except for the unspeakable ticks. Otherwise I might set up camp there and not leave until fall.
I keep thinking about these snails – does beer really kill them? Or does it just help one cope. Anyway, I remember a friend telling me about the giant mountain of salt that shipped into port where I used to live. And then it’s dispatched to whomever needs salt for their roadways in the snow, but perhaps it should be shipped to gardens overrun by snails, too.
Because you don’t want a possum. Ew. I’m sure they have their place in the ecosystem, but they’re horrifying.
I’m not really sure I’ve said anything of consequence at all.
But I like my book about the South and the supernatural (Beautiful Darkness). It temporarily relieves my mind from the weight of the world, which feels very heavy on my shoulders. It’s hard being an Empath, you know. Which would be my supernatural gift bestowed upon me in my sixteenth year, when I’d choose my destiny as a Light Caster. If I were a Caster, I mean. And my eyes would stay green. They wouldn’t turn gold like the Dark Casters. And they’d never be blue. ;)
I hope you’re able to give the metaphorical TV a good kick and obliterate the static. The picture will be garbled for a moment, but then it will come in, bright and hopeful and clear.
love to you,