I am like, “Here Summer Summer Summer. Come here boy!”

You call your hound dog (“Here Summer Summer Summer. Come here boy!”) and he is looping along happy as can be. He heard you and is a tiny dot in the back forty field. He is running home to eat dinner and lick your face with happy to see you licks and then, he catches the scent of a rabbit. Off he goes, baying as a hound dog does, even happier to chase that elusive rabbit off into the sunset…

That is how it feels as I try to find Summer…

I look at the plum trees and see yellow plums getting ripe, the apples are perfect, the air is crisp and cool, the swallows are leaving, the mosquitoes are gone, the ducks are flying, all the signs of Autumn are visible…

“Here Summer Summer Summer. Come here boy!”

No?

I think I just heard a hound dog running and baying in the valley below us?

So many rabbits and never enough time?

“Here Autumn Autumn Autumn. Come here boy!”

WtR

A survivor of six heart attacks and a brain tumor, a grumpy bear of a man, whom has declared Russia as his new and wonderful home. His wife is a true Russian Sweet Pea of a girl and she puts up with this bear of a guy and keeps him in line. Thank God for my Sweet Pea and Russia.