A campfire serenade
The mighty mosquito is going to be my driving force this evening. I’ve taken a break from the campfire circle where the last two hours have gone by in a hit parade of songs from my past, only because the wind died and brought more than smoke to the foreground.
It’s dry here. The grass is crunchy, and the two wide rivers that normally cut the beach into sections have been reduced to a memory of their former glory. No rain does that, and the farmers are right to complain. The citizens, also. Someone kinked a sprinkler hose on campus this afternoon, outraged that the academics had forgotten what the common man knows. When you run out of water, books won’t matter much.
This isn’t “end of the known world” drought, but when you spot potato and corn fields that are miniature, it has nothing to do with a newfound Bonsai tradition. If it rains tomorrow, so much the better.
We did get a stiff breeze last evening. The cover to our kitchen supplies went missing, and was found impaled on a fence post after daybreak. The patch with some trusty tape will serve as a reminder that winds do blow, mightily.
We had some down time outside the local tourist bureau this afternoon. Me and the dog, watching the world go by. I’m waiting to be immortalized on FB with my new shades and tanned legs. Another better than average meal at the Sheltered Harbour Café, and a shortage of cinnamon buns for the morning.
