Horns and Thorns

Please forgive me for not writing her for over a week. I know better than many that the best way to kill a blog is to ignore it, to starve it of new content. I've been quite busy of late. Many facets of my life have suddenly converged and laid grips on my creative time. During this dry spell, I've had smatterings of ideas for writings, but no resolve. I think this piece today may in some manner help explain that further.

Horns and Thorns

A devilish wind has raped the land. Harsh and surprisingly powerful, the furnace blast breeze is inexorable and demoralizing. The shade umbrella that usually guards my deck was stolen by the evil, cognizant wind and tossed irreverently in my neighbor’s yard. Just the umbrella, nothing else was moved an inch. No rain has freshened the unwanted guest away.

All around my home, obvious signs of capitulation abound. With triple-digit heat riding Satan’s joyful exhale, the grass has stopped growing, opting to be wildfire fuel instead. Thanks to the rigid brittleness of the dead grasses and weeds, walking barefoot, one of summer’s pleasures, becomes as painful as traipsing barefoot over cactus thorns.

The trees have thrown in the towel. All around they’ve launched smaller parts into the blast furnace in a panicked effort to keep the main trunk alive. Their skeletal twigs and brown, curled leaves litter my lawn like hair fallen from the head of a radiation patient. This cancer seems endless and incurable.

The tomato vines have withered. The cucumbers and squash are bones in the garden. The baby grapevine will never bear fruit. The hot peppers have given up; their wrinkled fruit, still attached to the exhausted stems, now may only be good for chili powder.

I’m exhausted by it. Stepping into the face of the tempest is like walking through the gates of Hell. It saps all energy and steals all resolve. Yet today, I’m buoyed by a respite in temperature. Today and for the next few days, we may actually be normally hot. This is like feeling good about paying $2.50 for gasoline after paying $3.29 a gallon. It’s a relative respite. Deep down, we know it won’t last.

Satan has his grip on the horizon. His breath is immoral, unrelenting, and unforgiving. He’s not leaving us alone for long.