sigh . . .

I am going to miss the soft breezes wafting though my bedroom every morning . . . the sounds of various feathered friends waking up and singing their sweet songs . . . the smell of wet grass . . . the cats each perched on a sill, noses to the screens, watching a world so different from their own . . .

But alas, this is Florida and summer is here.



It's not the heat . . . I love the deep penetrating warmth on my old bones. It is of course, the humidity . . . air so thick you wonder if you can breathe . . . that miasma which sucks the starch out of clothes and people alike. A permeable dampness that invades the soul.

And so, today, we will shutter the windows and turn on the air conditioner and sleep at night within the habitat of our own making. We will bathe in the cool air and enjoy all that is this small southern town.

Until next fall, sweet air, I bid you adieu . . .