The calendar says it’s April, but the forecast for the week reeks of August. Every year, April, you do this. Aprugust is more like it.
Today is, in my opinion, almost perfect. Around 70 degrees, sunny, low humidity, and a breeze. “Heather weather” to a tee. Later this week? Not so much. Eighties. Some of you love the heat (looking at you, Dad), but in those temps I feel hot and sticky and disgruntled.
But at least for today I have bluets, or whatever these lovelies are called, and magnolia blossoms. A icy gin and tonic goes down easy, and I’m still feeling good after a 2-mile saunter up the road. Bare feet on the back porch.
Quiet evening moments on the back porch are rare. Most afternoons are spent juggling so much: an energetic and chatty boy, end-of-workday wrap-ups/emails/calls, making dinner, then bath and bedtime stories. Running or a workout squooshed in there somewhere? Maybe. If all goes well, I get a hasty hot shower and an hour with my beardyman.
I wiggle my toes in the breeze and breathe.