It’s been raining so relentlessly over the last week that people have stopped complaining about the heat and humidity. Then again, there aren’t many people around to complain: the streets are empty, except for the virtual ponds that have formed, the stores deserted. Everybody’s huddled inside, moping, grumbling, tweezing their moles for entertainment.
My lawn is so thick and tall there are tribes of aborigines moving in. I’ve seen their cave art. Tree frogs and buffo toads are out in force, singing all through the night. They’re doing a benefit concert this weekend (“Legs Dance!”), proceeds to support an environmental group.
Two royal palm fronds came down on my roof — that’s about 40 feet of foliage — but I’m not going up there until the rain stops. Hauling giant chunks of wet, heavy tree parts on a slippery surface 12 feet off the ground sounds like the preamble to a hospital visit. Did I mention that one of them is straddling an electric cable?
On Sunday I took the inside house plants outside, as I do weekly, for watering. They’re still out there because they haven’t dried, and they won’t for days. But they seem to be enjoying themselves, don’t they? Turns out everybody appreciates a drink now and then.
Say, there’s an idea.