August 7, 2025
Yesterday I caught sight of something I thought was lost: that golden orb in the sky that delivers warmth and light. We’d had several straight days of clouds and rain, with temperatures that, at this time of year in the South, were like an arctic blast. For a while the mercury struggled to hit 65, or about thirty degrees lower than in late July. The gloom had me feeling like Johnny Cash in “Folsom Prison Blues,” lamenting, “I ain’t seen the sunlight since I don’t know when.”
The un-summery weather gets especially harrowing when it’s (shudder) August already. That goes double for seniors like me, who’ve used up most of the summers we’ve been granted. It’s triple when each day brings a dose of hell and a sense that everything we cherish has gone missing in a heartbeat.
Thankfully, we can still enjoy “little things” like fresh tomatoes and sweet corn, jazz on the radio, the company of those we love, and the natural world that’s unspoiled. The thermometer and the chaos all around us haven’t stopped these feisty cicadas from serenading our street. Take care and be safe.