Garden Hose Glory

I prefer the cold.  I grew up in a place where winters are deep, and wide, and long.  Blizzards blow, and school is canceled amidst swirls of whiteness, fashioned flake by individual flake until the landscape
the houses
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.

 You're so welcome, Sam.

Hoses are pretty good for Beeps, too.

 

That's pretty good.

Better.

Yesssss!

Here's to garden hoses everywhere.