The Dog Days of Summer

Ariel blow drys her hair after a cooling bath

Boone's ho-hum sighs echo through the breezeway

It's hot, it's humid and it's dry. The sheep graze early and late, or try and find a patch of stingy shade to browse around in during the day. The rest of the time they huddle in the shade of the fence line as close against the ground as possible, immobile except for the twitches that attempt to drive off the flies. The chickens are nowhere to be seen, except an occasionally shadowy form in the deep recesses of the barn. The cats have tucked themselves away in secret cat places. The dog's lay stretched out in the breezeway on the cool concrete. In deference to the elderly a fan is set up and soon appropriated by Queen Ariel. Boone stretches out behind her. They both wait for someone to do something. They are bored, but they are hot, so they wait patiently. The shepherd is in the house, in front of the fans, miserable and irritated. She doesn't take the hot weather well, and the drooping plants and barren pastures depress her. Rain has passed by once again. Dark clouds of promise drifted to south and to the north. It happens every year, but somehow the shepherd forgets and the angst of it all is repeated each year.

The rains will come again. Perhaps not in time to save the pastures, but when they do come the transformation of the thirsty dry earth will be amazing. Overnight everything will once more be green and strong and alive.

Until then we will all find our cool spots and wait it out. It is summer, after all.