Late Arrival

It would seem that it`s arrived.  It feels like it`s late. The officials confirm that we`re a month behind. The cicadas definitely were late awakening.  A phenomena which left me attuning my ears each morning whilst drinking my frappe, concerned that perhaps we`d lost this year`s generation.

The clouds hung around stubbornly, the evenings persistently cold, the blankets lingered on the end of the beds.  The quilts were washed, subsequently rained on whilst still on the washing line, then re-washed.

The tourists dallied in their countries, or in their hotels.  Few rentals passing by our twisty, narrow road.  I almost felt cheated as I adopted my seasonal habit of driving tightly to my side of the road, should I meet a cautious tourist coming from the other direction, and often in the middle of the road – only to meet none.

Suddenly, I felt the cool sea call, such was the temperature reached today.  Suddenly, the potted plants took on their tired, dehydrated look after the day`s intense heat.   Suddenly, we decided it was cooler indoors if we kept the doors closed.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Summer is here, at last!

I think we may have a tough one.

 

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