What's worse, I've been humming "Summertime" and I'm not sure if it is Joplin's version or the one from Porgy and Bess. How old am I?
And then at lunch time today, at my favorite spot where the Canada Geese hang out during early spring and late fall, a bee buzzed around some beautiful weeds. These weeds were so beautiful, it was all I could do not to jump out and pick one. Why don't I ever have beautiful weeds? Gimme weeds like this and I'd be okay with them. But all I get are thistle, ragwort, and blackberries, mixed in with grass and dandelions.
Why are the weeds in someone else's yard more beautiful?
So, when I came home today, I looked at my own weeds. Ugly. What is up with that? I'm hiring a man with a tractor and a brush hog, as soon as I can get him here. Mow everything to the ground, I'll say.
And then where will Bambi hide?
And maybe, while the tractor is putt-putting along, I'll stand in my yard and sing Fantasia Barrino's version of "Summertime."