It's been hot here. The kind of heat only a mid-August Ohio can bring. Monday, the temperature combined with the humidity created a heat index of 100 degrees. The house has been invaded by pooches; I hate to leave them outside in temps that high.
The last three nights, I've retreated to the lake in the evening.
I love the week nights, because I'm often the only soul on the big lake. This was the case the last few nights. Perhaps the heat was even too much for boaters. My mother, as always, gets so concerned with my seeking of solitude.
"Be careful," she warns through the cell. "People can do anything out there in the middle of no where."
But I've never felt safer or more at peace than when I'm paddling on open water.
Alone floating in my favorite summer place, a symphony of crickets and cicadas sang, celebrating the pinnacle of summer's heat. The silhouette of a blue heron, leggy and tall, stands on a sand bank like some thin yogi. Bats flutter above my head - five or six of them diving, silhouetted against the cool blue-gray sky, their paper-thin beating out a tiny rhythm. They're so close, I can see through their wings.
They're just doing what they do: fluttering around, helping keep the balance by eating insects.
In the distance, two flocks of Canadian geese form two silhouetted arrows pointing northwest, squawking loudly, doing what they do.
The grass is high. Despite my allergies, I am not allergic to hay and have always loved the smell of a fresh roll of it drying in the sun.
Ah, it's definitely mid-August. And regardless of my affinity for fall and winter, I try to appreciate mid-August, even when it's 100 degrees.
