Discarded Along the Way

During this evening's constitutional, I noticed that Someone, or more likely, several Someones have mowed the fencerows. There are no fences between the fields of corn, soy beans, shorn wheat and the county roads, but this space where fences should be (or perhaps where at one time?) is yet called a fencerow. No fences, but a plenitude of long grasses and wildly growing flowers have reign until the Cultivators of said fields can stand the shame of unkempt edges no longer. Tractors make quick work of cutting down the pretties, leaving swathes of dead weeds to grow brown and yucky in the summer sun.

And then I come puffing along. Without the cover of Queen Anne's Lace and Cornflowers, I notice far more beer cans and plastic beverage containers. I also notice some things I think someone is missing:

• An operating manual for an outboard motor
• A blue baby's pacifier
• A card-style hotel key (Best Western)
• A green latex glove
• Half a roll of paper towels
• An inhaler (like the type for asthma sufferers)
• One leather work glove
• A length of skinny rope

These items, found within a one-mile stretch of road (do not judge me by the length of my jog!) obviously point to a certain conclusion: After the fencerows were cut, Someone (or still the various Someones) was holding a boat wash for families from out of town. Working in the humid air was difficult for this person, but as they stopped for a few huffs on their inhaler, their dog snapped the skinny rope attached to its collar. A runaway dog necessitated a quick closure of the boat wash service, and this is why I never noticed these goings-on from my close-at-hand abode.

Of course, I do not have a boat.

And I spent so much time looking in the weed clippings that I missed the setting sun.

I'm Not Going to Tell You That It Is Hot

Because you already know that. I will say I have a renewed appreciation for our pond, despite the mud and floating algae. And now I know what running in a thick cloud of humidity feel like; who can breathe heated cotton balls without vomiting? Regardless of this "relentless" heat wave, I still love summertime.

And the Livin' is Easy...

Gone is the day, but the night is a ways off yet. It is that magic moment of ever-decreasing golden light that calls me to play a round of hide-and-seek.
Dusk.
One of my favorite words; I just like the sound. Stop and say it out loud. Slowly.

OK. So the sound of the word is no more special than it is written out. But imagine the smells of a summer dusk: growing corn, freshly threshed wheat, grass crushed by your bare feet. Close your eyes and hear the chirps, croaks and buzz of a summer evening. Feel the coolness of approaching night slowly climbing up from the ground dampened by the falling dew.

These make summer dusk euphoric for me.
These, and the memory that I excelled in hide-and-seek, if not in any other childhood game.

Where does dew fall from anyway? I never see it descend, but my mother sang about the dew of heaven falling on her.