Dark Days

Here we are, just about smack dab in the middle of July, with the heat of the furnace warming the house and rain filling the sky, washing the earth, and muttering steadily in my ears.

Growing up, I loved summer. Who wouldn’t? Moving back to Maine sixteen years ago, though, changed all that, which is rather ironic. Maine winters are much more consistently cold and snowy than those on the Front Range of Colorado, but the dryness of winter in Maine is a surprisingly good respite from the all the shizz that accompanies the wet, musty, mushy, just plain humid days of the rest of the year. Fall can be pleasant enough, especially if September and October bring more sunshine than rain, but spring and summer: ugh. Those seasons bring ticks: one or two of which killed Andi; they bring mold, mud, and mosquitos. The spring days that should be warm enough for a light jacket generally aren’t, and the summer days are too often either wet and cold or unbearably hot and humid.

My eyelids are not swollen from crying today. That’s a plus.

What am I doing here? Have I ever known? Oh yes: captured thoughts and images. Which thoughts? The ones that won’t offend? What images? The straightforward pictures of flowers and my kids?

It turns out, I guess, that there’s not much more to say right now.