Summer Soup
We flirted with 100° this week, and we’ll be flirting with it again next week. All this philandering is starting to get on my nerves.
It’s that time of year when your old (emphasis on old) pal Spook searches for some scrap of motivation that hasn’t evaporated or otherwise got burned to a crisp in the August blast furnace.
Snug Harbor’s weed crop thrives, encroaching by the minute like a wet, writhing blanket of Kudzu. Bag worms have won the Battle of The Conifers and the killing fields are littered with bodies yet to be policed. Minor annoyances collect like drips of sweat, tiny needles that itch the back of the neck.
Something clicks, and a normally friendly fellow turns into a raging maniac, yelling, “get off my lawn, you damn kids!”
Summer Soup. Blah.
I’m really looking forward to Fall this year.
Probably not half as much as Mrs. Spookyblue.