Photo: Memotion, Flickr Creative Commons
It has been a hot summer here. That's really not so strange. We are so deep in the South that one can't go much farther without entering Hell. The wasps love it though. They cruise my carport by the dozens and plaster their mud huts and paper houses under my eaves and along the rough brick walls. You have to check underneath everything outside before you pick it up or sit on it just in case there is an angry colony hiding out of sight.
I don't think the pond likes this heat so much. Despite the fact that has rained regularly this summer, the oppressive heat stewing up afternoon thunderstorms most days, the pond has receded at least a foot since spring. It's a little strange to see the dry dirt ring showing where the water used to be surrounded by the rich green grass. It looks like there is a tiny intense drought surrounded by plenty. It's just that the pond can't keep up with the sun, which keeps pulling out fuel for those afternoon storms faster than the water flows back in.
It's hot this summer but I don't seem to care as much as I used to. I no longer hate the feel of my own sweat after spending so much time in it this spring and summer spending so much time outside on the move.
I still can't wait for the fall with its football and cooler weather, though.
The sun has set, it's 94 degrees outside, I've dislodged a bracket on my braces after a uninspiring attempt at baking my own pizza crust, and I'm going running.