the peepers were screaming this morning at four am when i woke up, the rapidly-turning leaves hung limp and heavy on the branches. today the sun rose in burst of flame. we need rain badly... the lower pond is completely dry, the waterfall overgrown, even the upper pond, which is spring fed and never dries up, is seriously low.
mommy, whined libby, why is it so HOTTTTT???
it's indian summer, i said. this is summer's last stand. enjoy it while you can.
she flounced off to brush her teeth, annoyed because it's not "supposed" to be so hot.
i stood on the deck and watched the mist drift off the surface of the pond, watched the reflection of the water ripple over the trees. the light crept closer, gold and orange. my bones are old enough to appreciate its heat, to want to wallow in the warmth, to let the light sink in. i wish i could store it up, like a squirrel, and release it some frosty february morning when indian summer seems faint and far away. but all i can do is store up the memories, of the sights and the sounds and the scents: of the golden willow across the pond, of the bare wood of the deck, wet and cool beneath my bare feet, of the scream of the jays and the cooing of the doves, and the scent of sweet annie and coffee blending in the soft skunk-scented air.