Rocky Raccoon Checked Out of His Room
Dry July is gone; so far, the rains have returned for August. The grass has started greening and growing again, and mosquitoes have made a fierce, get-in-the-house-at-all-costs comeback. Why do they sneak into the house when the door is open? To paraphrase a storied criminal, that's where the blood is.
There was a terrific rain this afternoon, but one without lightning or sound effects. Just an intense downpour. The entire patch of Queen Anne's Lace in the back yard bowed to its might, instead of standing up and reaching for the Sun as the flowers usually do. After the rain, the bowing plants were adorned with beads of water. It was a pretty sight, and a photo-op. For someone with better equipment. I went as far as taking a few snapshots, but instead of a graceful collection of summertime plants washed by the heavens, all my images look like an explosion at a salad bar.
Actually, they don't look like that. A blown-up salad bar would be interesting, if not pretty.
Returning to my back door, I spied something I haven't seen before on the roof: a raccoon. Let's call him Rocky. The rains must have driven him from whatever local hole he dwells in. He was curled up, asleep under one of the second-floor awnings, bothering nobody. I suppose as a property owner, I ought to do something about his presence, and would if he wanted to live in my attic. But he'll be gone sometime in the night to do whatever raccoons do in the suburbs.