Summer Saga

Nobody’s in a hurry
To do anything
Moving slow, slower, slowest
Nothing much to say
You know the rest
Would take too much effort
What was left, but to nitpick?
About those that droned
On-and-on, in irritating
Monotones–in public places
On hand-held phones
About those that mowed lawns
Mid-afternoons–because
It was cooler that way in June
There were more issues I missed
None of which were reasons
To get my shorts in a twist

Wasn’t Ready For “IT”

Humidity was stifling. “IT” had rained nearly every day or night.  Was this the way aging crept up on us?  The same conditions year-after-year, our ability to cope decreased proportionately.

Why was the word ‘IT’ given so much importance?  Weren’t there other, two-letter words of equal value?  “Well, ‘IT’ happened.” “That was the way ‘IT’ came and went.” Sometimes I wished “IT” would go away.

My front porch, purple New Guinea impatiens, succumbed from lack of water during my absence.  Three plastic jugs of water left–no more than two feet away.

Watering instructions left with a neighbor, were all for naught.  Don’t know why “IT” happened.  My rebellious nature suggested bright orange and yellow, dollar store replacements.  The irony of “IT” would likely be wasted.  “IT” was, what “IT” was.  Just stop “IT!”

Take the Day Off…

Thank you.  I will–after mowing and trimming the lawn.  By then, my energy will have been spent.

The job’s done–three hours later.  Dehydrated, on the verge of heat exhaustion.  My fingers are cramping up as I write this.  I’m giving myself the rest of the day off.

 

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