For what seems like the first day in ages, it is not raining. The sun is shining, the bees are busy buzzing, the birds are making it in mid-air, the squirrels are enjoying the peanuts I left for them, and my plants are blooming.
The scent of roses and hyacinth, sweet melissa and lavender floats on
the breeze and in through my writing room window, tempting me to come
outside and play. I want to be out there, the sun on my face, the wind
gently blowing my hair, my bare feet cushioned by the soft waves of
bluegrass.
In some ways, not much has changed since I was a kid in school. Those
last few days of class drove me crazy. How could I concentrate on
subordinate clauses, Sherman’s march, or algebra when Mother Nature sang
to me?
I’ve made good progress on all of my current writing projects. And
though I still have a few more thousand words until they’re finished, I
deem this worthy of a respite.
I open the back door to make my way outside, and I am greeted by
three wasps. Sentinels determined to keep me inside. So I spin back
around, shut the door, and close the blinds. I don’t like feeling
intimidated by three measly flying insects. So I grab a smudge bundle I
happen to have and light it. I smudge the porch with the sweet, burnt
smell of sage. The wasps are now watching me.
“Yeah, and I got more where that came from!”
Just then Bear drives up and sees me alone on the porch.
“Who are you talking to?”
“Those thugs over there” I say, pointing to the wasps, who are by now faking interest in our pink dogwood tree.
“Why did I even ask?” He says and shakes his head.
“Hey, I didn’t start this! They did.”
He goes on inside the house and behind me I can hear the buzz of wasps..and what sounds like snide insect laughter.
