We’re looking back at June and July pictures today. It’s mid August and everyone’s yearning for fall, yikes. Leaves on a few trees are now turning yellow and dropping thanks to weeks of no rain. Outside in the heat in a light wind, I hear soft crunchy sounds of dry leaves stirring. Too soon! I still crave summer. I have August Angst, that melancholy frame of mind that comes with knowing the season will soon turn. I’m not ready.
In book news, many thanks to all who have purchased my/our (I wrote it but had feline muses and editors) book, Catwoods, we appreciate it! Now in addition to Amazon (click cover at upper right), Barnes and Noble, and other online sources, you can get it from Ernest and Hadley Booksellers, the indie bookstore owned by the indie publisher of the book.
Those reds are actually berries, but it seems early for berries!
The crepe myrtles really showed up for us in town this year.
“That looks like last summer,” Franklin chimes in, “when I was new and little and hungry in town, that wasn’t a fun summer.”
“Do you remember how you got here?”
“I found a cat-feeding biped in October, who saved me. Then The Hubs showed up and brought me home. Much better eats, two cat feeders in-house, much better summer this time around!”
“I expect you saw lots of these in town.”
“I jazzed up this one considerably.”
“Whoa! They didn’t look like that!”
“Let’s get back to the forest for a sec . . .”
“We haven’t left . . . ” (This cat takes everything literally.)
I admit I’m partial to pine and the ways it divides the light.
Besides the reddish berries, we’ve had some leaves going rusty red early. Maybe from the dryness, I’m tellin’ myself. Because to have leaves start turning in July would be just . . . eerie.
We saw some critters in the “yard”.
This could be a tree frog but I don’t know the species. They tend to land on glass surfaces.
Blue Dasher Dragonflies have been zipping around everywhere this year. They fly right up to us and have been known to alight on a hand. They move so fast I haven’t gotten many pictures though.
“Say,” Frankie says, “those last three have caught my eye, and I have yet to eat any. We’re right here in the kitchen. Couldn’t you . . . ”
“Um, no way. No one here eats those critters . . .” (Life with a small outspoken predator.)
Our crepe myrtles have been cycling all summer, sprouting buds while the older blooms wither and new flowers open. This often lasts well into autumn.
Stay tuned, August may be even weirder . . .