I'm confused. If we're now experiencing global warming, how come it was 56˚F when I got up this morning? Have I fallen through a time warp? Is it not now mid-August? The leaves are green, so it can't be October. Did aliens zap me in my sleep and spirit me off to Canada?
Naaahhh, I just checked—I'm still in Ohio. Huh! And I was just about to get in the mood to go walleye fishing and maybe pick some wild blueberries for my pancakes.
By rights, and past history, it ought to be in the sweltering mid-80˚s already, well on its way to heading somewhere north of the 90˚F mark by noon. I should have beads of sweat on my arms instead of goose bumps. And be dressed in shorts and flip-flops rather than long pants and a pullover.
Cicadas should be ratcheting from the sycamores. Turtles ought to be sunning atop the riffle stones. And I'd expect the zinnias to be alive with flittering butterflies.
But no…just me and a great blue heron skulking the far side of the Cottage Pool. We seem to be the only living creatures braving the unseasonably chilly morning. Even Moon-the-Dog, after taking care of necessary business, gave her usual sprawling spot in the driveway a brief trial, then decided she'd rather sprawl inside the open doorway and keep watch over my outdoor goings-on from a more comfortable venue.
I'm seriously thinking of gathering an armload of sticks and building a fire in the woodstove.