Dog days

We are unquestionably in the dog days of summer. Just a short walk from the house to the mailbox can seem like a mile in this oppressive heat and humidity.

Louis and I sat for a few moments at the picnic table under the oak tree near the pond this morning. We had been searching for the prickly pear I had seen several days ago in the field near the road, and while Louis removed it with a shovel, I delighted in the few tiny wildflowers that had sprouted since Louis had mowed last. Just that short time out in the sun had drained us. With drops of perspiration running down our faces, we headed for a place to rest and cool off in the shade.

“One of the questions I keep asking God and he won’t answer me” I told Louis “is why He created me with such intolerance for the heat and a fair, freckly complexion, and then planted me in the tropical climate of southwest Florida.”

“Because He knew I was here.” Louis answered.


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