the sky itself
is all quieted.
Life slows, and hushes, and pays heed to the landscape's need to sleep.
I don't live in such a place now. Where I live- where Cabbage Ranch is- there is no quiet snow. Here, the deepest weather sizzles and snaps, waves up from the pavement in a wiggling mirage.
It is hot. Ridiculously hot. I don't glow delicately in the heat. I sweat in rivulets, and my shirt, cap, and even my jeans soak through. I do not feel pretty... Definitely. Not Pretty.
I become convinced we do, in fact, live on the surface of the sun.
But life goes on and we all find some relief, thanks to the often-ignored garden hose.
Horses love baths when it's hot.
Here's to garden hoses everywhere.