The ants go marching…

They’ve moved into the curb bed. I stabbed the earth repeatedly with a rake handle. They revolted. I stabbed. They widened their search for their attacker. I fled the scene. But, like television teaches us, the criminal often returns to the scene of the crime. I did so, predictably. I did so with some poisonous potato chip crumbs (or whatever they are.) It rained down like sprinkles on a cupcake. Like leaves from a lately turning tree in a winter wind flurry. I left them to viciously scramble over the yellow crumbs blanketing their mound. I have little faith that it worked, but it felt good.

I have yet to check.

I have ants in my pants yet again. We’ve only been in this house a year and a smidge. I found myself shopping today. There’s a school over there. It’s interesting. Is it the right school for our little human? (Is there ever a right anything?) I’ll chalk these ants up to my third day of stomach bug making any vertical moves in the physical realm result in a sharp stick.

The ants go marching three by three, hurrah…hurrah…

I should water the winter sprouts. They’re in the shade, but it’s still 100 degrees outside. That, however, requires standing up.

(I watered the sprouts. And checked the ants. They’re still there. I poked them with a stick this time. And am eating crackers now – what a victory.)

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Stained skin.

My skin is still tight from the soil dried upon it. Laptops could use a little more earth about them. It’s a magical season, this summer. It feels stolen. People speak in hushed tones. No one wants to break the spell. No one wants to jinx it. People don’t dare voice their appreciation too boisterously for fear the stifling leaden blanket of heat be pulled over their days as punishment. I finished listening to Brene Brown’s series of talks called The Power of Vulnerability. She speaks to catastrophizing as a coping mechanism (that ultimately robs us of the ability to appreciation joy). People are catastrophizing the weather. They’re neglecting to enjoy it. Afraid to enjoy it. Relish in it. Open their pores to it.

I am working on not being one of those people. Not defaulting to staying indoors. Rushing from air conditioned car to air conditioned house to air conditioned work to air conditioned store. Yes. It is July. Yes, this is Central Texas. But no, it is not so hot as to induce the annual cabin fever creating behavior. It’s glorious. and I’m out in it every chance I get.

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I often struggle with the “leave the pests, the predator will come” philosophy as I watch the aphids grow in number day after day on the fennel’s flower stalks. And today, the philosopher was right.

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The fennel and the caterpillar in the fading sun light.

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The succulent’s sunscreen has grown thicker.

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Sweet potatoes pushing beyond bounds.

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Such a lovely shade of rouge.

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Rougey’s neighbor.

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Yet another avocado making a go of a second life.