That muffled thud is an apple dropping off the Winesap tree. It's that time of year.
The distant grumble, growing ever nearer and more insistent, is thunder. Lots and lots and lots of thunder. It's that time of year.
The relentless swish and swash and rushing is water, falling from the sky. In bucket loads and bushels and big, bad, bunches. At least a couple of inches overnight. I guess it's that time of year.
That sharp, alarming, crack, awaking innocent sleepers long before the sun (what sun, seriously, it's 8 AM and dark as the Devil's armpit today) comes up? That, yeah, that's part of the bedroom ceiling falling on the dresser. It's that time of....
Wait!
What!
Oh, no!!
Oh no, indeed! Glad it landed on the dresser and not some slumberer.
ReplyDeleteI hate the passing of summer but looking forward to rains beginning but not the rest.
ReplyDeleteI just discovered your blog this morning. I've now subscribed and look forward to staying in touch. Thank you for blogging!
ReplyDeleteOh Good Lord, What Next? How serious is the problem? Which bedroom? Love, Mom
ReplyDeleteThat sounds like a disaster in the making. Hope it isn’t as bad as it seems.
ReplyDeleteJoated, me too, believe me!
ReplyDeleteJan, it has been nuts here! Ralph hasn't made a bale of hay in four weeks.
Nick, thanks, and welcome aboard.
Mom, my room, of course. Alan says he will fix it for me. Love you!
Denny, there are some pretty serious cracks, but plans are in the works for prevention and repair. Soon I hope.
I hate the passing of summer. But, even here, it feels like fall. Once the sun starts to set before 8 p.m. it's fall. I don't care what the calendar says.
ReplyDeleteLinda, I am not ready for it either. It almost feels as if we have had no real summer. The weather has been so weird. So much dry and then too much rain. Ugh.
ReplyDelete