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.
Dew drops dry on the hibiscus and Gerbers while the sun
winds its way around the corner.
No writing today…today there’s too much summer.
I think I’ll go a beachin….
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