“A change is as good as a rest.”
Maybe.
And, maybe not.
I sit on the screened-in porch, attached to the quaint log cabin I rent. Those who know me well may find this picture amusing.
Things change.
Sounds of nature surround me. Sounds I would gladly describe had I a sweet clue what they were. Bugs, birds, and I’m thinking cicadas. I know this about cicadas because I read an article stating that after 17 years underground, this year, the cicadas are emerging in the south like the “undead from their graves.”1 Though why the undead would be in their graves, I do not know.
However, I’m no expert. For all I know, there may also be a dragon or two in the dell below me.
A baby squirrel pauses a moment on the wooden fence post in front of me while two others chase each other around one of the many thick pine trees towering majestically in the yard, and I smile.
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