Its a humid, sticky night in the Deep South, more fitting for June than mid-November. A high wind whispers in the tops of the trees, Winter is coming, sit out here another week and see. It comes swooshing down to tease me, catching a stray wisp of hair and tossing it wildly across nose and eyes. The porch swing was abandoned for the Pierce rocker tonight, a gift from Mama when Youngest Fellow was born. Half of the crickets are loudly lamenting the passage of time while the other half are trying to coax the moon out from behind heavy clouds. Tomorrow is Youngest Fellows 23rd birthday. The crickets need to hush... GNight yall!
Posted on: Sun, 17 Nov 2013 02:58:27 +0000
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