Or at least so say the frogs. I hear them chirping for the first time since last year. The evening is coolish, low 70s. It’s windy and the sunset is picturesque. I’m compelled that every breath is a deep one to drink in the amazing smells stirred up by the impending storm. Surely there will be a storm. There are too few here, and it makes me miss my home. A place without thunderstorms is a place without the cleansing that we need for a fresh start. I think it’s past due to rain like that in this town.
