Gunfire. This morning. It began around 7:00 and lasted for several hours. I'm not talking a few shots. I'm talking continuous blasts. Hundreds of rounds, at least.
The start of hunting season? Probably. I'm not looking forward to it. The shots are often close to my house. My biggest fear is that someday I'll be the recipient of a stray bullet - - courtesy of a myopic, inebriated hillbilly good ol' boy. I loathe everything to do with hunting.
I can hear the gun control freaks cheering and applauding.
I'm armed and dangerous. If anyone tries to break into my abode, I'll aim for their ass and ask questions later.
The gun control freaks are suddenly expunging my blog and I'm getting kudos from the NRA.
Hey, I'm not a killer. I don't endorse guns. And I don't get my kicks from blasting Bambi. But I'll blast the first SOB who crosses the line into my territory for malicious intent.
Don't sweat it. The gun rant is over.
Sunlight on weeds at dawn - probably the dumbest photos I ever posted
I initially got up before dawn to cut some weeds - despite my bad back and complete lack of enthusiasm. Forty minutes of excruciating effort yielded pathetically minimal results. The fifteen-foot-high weeds are now fourteen-and-a-half feet high.
I was drenched in dew, sweat, assorted burrs, and bugs bites. The humid air strangled my breath and my heart rate soared to DOA proportions. As I crawled up the hill back to the house - crippled, wet, and defeated - I could hear the weeds laughing.
Two thoughts crossed my mind:
1. If I drop dead before I get to the house, my body won't be found until March - that is, if the ice kills the weeds and the coyotes don't eat me.
2. I forgot to buy potatoes when I went to town last Thursday.
This dispelled the theory that our lives flash before our eyes when death threatens. All I saw was an unfulfilled grocery list.
September is here and not too soon. It was a brutally hot summer. The past few days have been gorgeous and sunny. The nights are cooler. I needed a blanket last night.
I sleep with the window wide open and I sleep in my underwear. I would sleep naked but I don't want to scare the cats. Bosco's usually in bed with me.
Last night the coyotes were unusually active with unearthly howls. And creatures in the trees kept tossing loud whoops and hooots at each other. I'm assuming they were owls. I can't imagine any other tree-dwelling creatures that whoop and hoot.
As if I'm not already suffocating in the delights of Mother Nature, last night there were creatures scurrying about on my roof! Raccoons? 'Possums? Squirrels? Are squirrels nocturnal??
I ventured outside at 3:00 a.m. in my underwear with a flashlight but couldn't see a thing. It was too damn dark.
This post is getting too long. When I start boring myself, I know for certain that my welcome is waning.
I'm presently writing a book for children. No, I'm not joking and I'm sober. I should really be working on my novel and memoir, but this latest endeavor is a very pleasant diversion. I'm actually having fun. It's all poetry (the rhyming kind) and it's scary. But, of course, not too scary.
I'll end with a few more back yard photos. Nothing spectacular.
These are different butterfly photos than the ones I posted last week. I swear, it always looks like the same butterfly every time.
The yellow butterfly (below) is on a flower with two bees, but they are hardly discernible on the photo.