August. Hot, steamy days. Thunderstorms rolling through.
The thunder is rolling, echoing, promising. The willow tree waves in anticipation. At a little past 8 it is almost dark. Flashes of lightening decorate the ridge. I think I will have to go sit on the porch and watch.
By the way, the moon is hiding these recent evenings. But the big dipper is not. I have enjoyed catching a glimpse of that most lovely and recognizable of constellations, hanging towards the north.