On this particular summer morning, well past the mid-point of August, the suns glares bright while a cool breeze ruffles the silver maple. Its leaves, well shaken, mark a path of residual raindrops along the walkway to my front door.
I’m sitting on my back porch, which is my custom on summer days, bright or dreary, looking for the story to fill today’s page. But who can write, let alone muse amusing, when a back lit mist of steam rises from the roof top like a late night spirit caught napping, hurrying away from the day.
All my focus goes along with it; my eyes opens to a palm plant that sits by my side, every day, making sure I don’t abuse the semi-colon rule; I still do, but what do you want…it’s only a palm.
No writing today…today there’s too much summer.
I think I’ll go a beachin….
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