Oh. Hello, blog.
I suppose apologies are in order. Excuses. Provisos, quid pro-quos, promises I don’t intend to keep …
No, really, it’s been kind of a weird summer.
Maybe if I had been blogging all along I would have a plan. Some back-up posts in the hopper. My blogging muscles all flexed and ready so the bizareness of this summer would come in stride.
I got nothing, campers. I’m sorry.
Except this. A picture of a rabbit:
Oh, and my kid. I know, right?
The weather is cooling. My cat — who began the summer so fat and snow-shocked she couldn’t fit through the pet door and cried piteously when I tried to shove her through it — is dusty from her afternoon back-scratch roll in the driveway.
Mama Sunshine had us over to her pool this afternoon. I sat in the shade and drank them in: their muscular, sun-kissed bodies, their giggles and splashes, the way they get mad and forgive and stomp off and come back and share a bowl of cut watermelon, the juice running down their chins into sticky rivulets in their neck folds. (They only get neck folds when they eat watermelon.)
Summer has come, oddly and late, to the Tilty-Floored Farmhouse. I have relief at last from worry and work and heat (that part is maybe more early fall). I’m going to enjoy it.
And I’ll be back.