But for a small oasis one block from our house, our town has been wrapped in a sepia filter.
It has only rained .16 inches so far this month and the bright summer sun has crisped up our front lawn like chop suey noodles.
Our feet crunch the grass as we putter, determinedly barefoot, around the yard, watering the annual flowers we planted with great optimism earlier this summer, but leaving the perennials to fend for themselves.
An industrious bird family built its nest in our hanging plant. There they dodge a daily soaking from the garden hose so that they can enjoy a green, shady roof. We think they’re aviary real estate geniuses (even if they did scare the baseball caps off us when they first came shooting out of the planter.)
At our cabin, a small falcon in search of a cool resting place flew into our chimney and became trapped. Our neighbor helped release him, thirsty but unharmed.
We place window air conditioners and box fans around our 80-year old house with military precision and enjoy 80-year old discussions on how to generate the best cool air flow.
We’d love to sit on our front porch and watch a good soaking summer storm roll in, but we’re not complaining.
As they say here in the Midwest, “You don’t have to shovel sunshine.”