As Jules points out on her engaging literary site, there's a background sound to Texas. It's mostly cicadas, their static rising and falling in time to the waves of heat that roll in like air from a hot oven. Not unlike an insectoid alien early warning signal, when you think of it.
Add in the squawking of ferocious birds defending their territory from barking, predatory squirrels, and the same squirrels hurling half-eaten pecans down on you like nutty shrapnel. You get the picture, a Texan morning in late August, and I enjoyed it, sipping coffee while the sprinkler watered Ma LSP's ferns.
You can say, with justice, that there's many things wrong with the 'Sprawl but her garden isn't one of them, and it's been good to set up here for a few days while she's in England celebrating the Brexit movement. Tranquil, despite the barrage of pecan nuts raining down like shells on the Chancellery of the doomed Reich.
To escape the barrage I drove to my favorite ghetto barber, which used to be called Senor Ramone's, they call him "Ramen" for some reason, and now goes by a different name altogether.
A few years back someone went in for a haircut, had the cut, left, returned, and shot a barber stone cold dead. The shooter then fled the scene of the crime only to be gunned down (or was he just arrested?) by Dallas PD in the alley behind the shop. None of the staff seemed particularly phased. I know, I asked them at the time.
Haircuttery over, return to base and stand in awe as a brisk wind kicks in, clouds roll over and it begins to rain. What is this, Skywater? And why did I water everything in the smothering heat of the morning? Must get more and better Weather Shamans.
Back to the country tomorrow. Blue #4 is nesting in front of the sink, curiously.
Be good,
LSP
