Now I know what it must feel like to live behind Niagara Falls. If I glance out of my home office window, that’s what I’ll see. In miniature. Without plummeting barrels. So I hope.
It appears that April’s showers have gone into extra innings on the First Coast. They won’t be defeated as they keep swinging, lashing out at my eaves and shingles this evening with the adrenaline-fueled abandon of a meth-head raging for his fix. Those May flowers, meanwhile, don’t want to get mixed up with these torrid showers, so they’re waiting in the dugout for the crash.
My grass? I know what side he’s pulling for. If these showers weren’t raging today, I would have given the Toro a spin around the back yard. Call it an indefinite stay of execution.
My staycation? Flower power all the way! But it knows it doesn’t stand a chance against Mother Nature, who invoked Murphy’s Law as a not-so-subtle dig on my recreational choices. Plus she knows that I’ll unintentionally kill (via a well-honed black thumb) any blooms within 15 feet of my house if the showers acquiesce.
All things considered, the spigot stays on…
It seems not so long ago, the scent of not-so-far removed wildfires wafted through our neighborhoods as we embarked on our morning drives. On choice days, Ma Nature might even blow a plume of fine ash in our faces (and to coat our vehicles oh so well). “Wildfire risk = Extreme” warnings would make frequent guest appearances on morning news programs, crawling along our screens in menacing red hues. And for months at a time, I could only grimace in empathy toward my front yard, as my grass gasped for its life, turning a shade of sickly yellow as the St. Johns River Water Management District held it in a stranglehold.
Wednesdays and Saturdays after 4 p.m. for odd-numbered residences only. Damn water restrictions.
And now, Nature once again laughs in the face of us humans. “Restrictions? Screw ‘em! I’ll give you what you need,” she says.
And on cue, the grass rejoices. The staycation mutters something and walks away, looking for an umbrella and a travel agent. And the junkie gets his fix.
And here I am, listening to Seal (his mid-90s brooding stuff, of course) and recognizing that Mother Nature really does know what she’s doing. And coming full circle in silent appreciation. She’s been here a lot longer than we have, after all.
But you must know I’m still going to look for that place behind the falls. When it comes to blogging, waterfalls (even fake, miniature ones) seem to light my fire.
