So I'm up this morning and out the door by 5am. 73 degrees and so humid the sidewalk is "sweating." Within minutes, I am too.
The dogs start panting by the time we're at the end of the block.
Welcome to the dog days of August.
It occurs to me as I'm walking around that it's pitch black out there. Maybe I didn't notice it as much last week because of the full moon but I really needed the flashlight I've got strapped to my wrist.
It also occurs to me that it feels like February. February? Yep. February.
My favorite seasons are Spring and Fall for obvious reasons. Generally nice weather, air you can breathe and the fact that you can spend long periods of time outside without either sweating or freezing yourself silly.
February and August always feels like months I just have to "get through" and to be honest I'll be very glad to be done with this Summer.
What a dog ass Summer this has been so far.
The garden is DOA. SM went to pick tomatoes with a basket in hand and came back empty handed. "They're done." He said tossing the basket on the counter.
"Done as in diseased? Done as in no fruit on the vine?" I asked from the safety of my recliner.
(*Me and the bug-a-boo's outside don't mix anymore so I've been avoiding the garden except when I go out to cut flowers. Then I wear full defensive gear. Even then they still manage to get through. SM though is not quite as tasty to the nasty little buggars so he tends to get less bites than I do.)
"Done as in rotting." SM says shaking his head. "Shame..."
It is indeed. But that's the way the ball bounces. Some years you hit, some years you miss. All I can do is hang out and bark about it.
September when the fresh breezes blow in. Then I'll be outside once again.
Until then I'll spend the month of August perusing your blogs and admiring your harvests inside the safety of my house with the AC pumping and the ceiling fan spinning.