I stood at the barn gate, my arm over the neck of my mule Nebuchadnezzar, stroking his beautiful long ears softly. I listened to the rise and fall of the ratcheting song of the cicadas. The sun setting in a soft cushion of pink and orange sherbet clouds, cast a golden glow on the bark of the oak trees. It was still, sultry, and hot, but probably 20° cooler than the afternoon just passed. My shirt is still sweat soaked, while I finish feeding chores for the day. I’m home, back in Texas in August. The tomatoes, well, they’ve given up, and the grass is baking to light tan. A few days ago we had 15/100ths of an inch of rain, but that’s evaporated now. Now in the relative cool of the evening the young mares are playing tag in the west pasture, one is carrying the remnant of a gourd vine in her teeth, and the others are running after her like a seventh grade football team. I’d be lying if I said I don’t yearn for the cooler, dryer air of Colorado and Nebraska. And I did love revisiting old friends and old familiar places. But this is home. This is where I belong, with my wonderful family!
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