Animal, Vegetable, Mineral

Dear God it is fucking hot. And so humid that I can't seem to keep my camera lens from fogging.
Mr. Moon and I were eating our pancakes on the back porch this morning and I had what might have been my fourth hot flash of the morning and I just sat there and started weeping.
Sometimes it's just too much.
Today, for instance.
And I think it's okay to cry during a hot flash. I mean, why not? The salt water is already pouring out of me and why not add tears to the mix? Mr. Moon just held my hand. What else can he do? The hot flash ended, we finished our breakfast, he washed the dishes.
Life.

I can hear the thunder starting to rumble. We're on our every-afternoon rain schedule which is a beautiful thing. The rain starts and the air settles down and somehow, seems less humid when the water is coming in the form of rain instead of fat, thick molecules of it just hanging there. I have a friend who described trying to work or exercise in this sort of humidity as being like trying to swim underwater without a snorkel. You know the damn oxygen is there, it's just hard to get to it through all the water.
A lot of people who were born and raised in this part of the south grow up and buy summer houses in the green hills and mountains of the Carolinas and I sure do understand that. No hurricanes, that sweet green coolness...yeah. We reach an age where we realize that if we have the means there's no reason to suffer through this sort of weather.
We're like the snowbirds, only in reverse.

Well, speaking of birds, while we were eating and before and after my hot flash, we noticed that the wren parents were acting differently. They were flying carefully from one spot on the porch to another. Not looking for bugs or anything like that, just scoping out the path from nest to outside. They perched on all the different screens, one of them landed on the mermaid hanging from the ceiling right above our heads, one came and sat on the table.
And now they've both disappeared and I have a funny feeling that today may be the leaving-of-the-nest day for their babies.
Are the parents off now arranging things wherever it is that they'll be directing their children? Are they letting them get hungry enough to be more easily coaxed outside with fat worms and crunchy flies? Are they at wren church?
I have no idea.
Wait. One just came in with food, went up to the nest and gave it to the babies who chirped loudly. How do they keep track of which baby's turn it is to eat?
I have noticed something this year that I've never noticed before which is that sometimes a parent carries a bit of the nest outside. I am certain this is the way they keep the nest clean. They carry the poopiest bits outside and discard them.
How cool is that?

Anyway, I have the porch doors flung open and the doors to the house shut and the ceiling fan off. I'd hate to see baby birds flung around the porch and if one got into the house by accident I don't know that we'd ever be able to get it out.
And today may not be the day at all. But if it is, we're ready.

Last night I got a nice picture of a little toad who was hopping on the porch. I took a bunch of pictures but this is the only one that came out. He was so fast that I got quite a few pictures of empty floor. Anyway, here he is. Or was.


I was walking around the yard this morning taking pictures like these


(and I have no idea the name of this plant and I am ashamed of that- anyone who can help me out?) when I went to the front yard to find our old friend, Mr. Snake.
I am certain it is the same one.

I am giving up and calling it a pet.

He looked strange today, though. Lumpy as hell. And he was breathing hard. Did he just eat an entire generation of baby birds of some sort? Possibly, although I hope it was a nest of baby rats. Or maybe he's just molting. Or something. What I don't know about animals could fill libraries of books. I called Mr. Moon over and we looked at Mr. Sss for awhile.
"I suppose I could catch him and take him somewhere," Mr. Moon said.
We pondered this for awhile. I took some more pictures. We thought about the quick movements which would be required, the equipment, the container to transport him.
"I just don't like handling snakes," said Mr. Moon.
"Well, I don't handle snakes," I said.
And so I suppose the snake is off somewhere now digesting whatever it is he ate or molting or doing whatever it is he's doing, unmolested by either of us.

I keep trying to get a picture of one of the wrens and I just cannot do it. They're too damn fast for me. I'm sorry.

But here's a nice picture of a little lizard. The tiny dinosaurs which inhabit my world. This one had just come up from the pine chips, I'm sure because he was brown but turning green. Can you see his emerald eye?

Isn't he handsome?

Ah. The wind is picking up, the thunder is rolling. I'm not sure what my day holds now that the pancakes have been made and eaten. None of the children are coming out, as far as I know. There are no parties to which I've been invited. I think I could even get away without doing laundry but that might be pushing it.
I should go work in the garden and perhaps later Mr. Moon and I will go pick blackberries which I know are just waiting to be taken. Both of those activities will be hotter than you can imagine and buggier too. The yellow flies have found my feet again as I've been writing this. I've now sprayed them with the family-friendly type of bug spray which probably only attracts the little cocksuckers, makes their mouths water in preparation for blood-sucking but you do what you can.

Someone has a radio on very loudly which is broadcasting a church service. I can't hear the words but I can tell from the delivery and now a hymn is playing. Some lorn white man singing and it is a sad-sounding tune. Jesus may be involved. Most likely.

I finally got a bird picture. Here it is. It's not very good.

But it will have to do.

My foot itches. It's drizzling. The frogs are singing, but not quite drowning out the hymn. The thunder stills rumbles.

It's Sunday and it's hot and one of the wrens is outside now, calling in a voice far bigger than she is.

Time to put on the overalls. Time to get to work.

Thanks for dropping by the Church of the Batshit Crazy. I'm sorry I didn't have anything very enlightening or stimulating or inspiring to share. That's just the way it is some days, especially days like this one where it's too hot to think, too humid to move, too buggy to bear.
And yet, we do bear it although sometimes, we silently cry into our pancakes, holding hands and waiting for the worst part to be over.