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  • The heat has been relentless. They say that the heat wave is officially over, since we've broken the spate of 90 degree+ days that has lasted more than two weeks. Yesterday was 89, still hot, still dry, no rain in the forecast. I am not convinced the spell has been broken.

    These early mornings of hand watering plants feel akin to playing god, a game I do not like. Who will live? Who will die? There is just not enough to go around, so it's survival of the fittest - sorry my darlings...

    The edibles command my attention and not much else. I cannot even look in the direction of some of the flower beds, desolate places I dare not go. Dried up carcasses of plant life - only just a few weeks ago green, lush and flowering, now brittle, yellowed, withering. The crows caw eerily overhead, and even the cicadas are sounding ominous. As the drought wears on, a depressing haze clouds my vision.

    And then - this.

    As I turned a forlorn looking corner this morning, there, atop a nearly leafless climbing rose branch sat this perfect flower. The only spot of vivid color - life! - in a foreground of desolation, and still as fragrant as it was in June. I thought I might be dreaming. I snipped it and brought it inside, took several photos of it on a white background to document today's small miracle, my little harbinger of hope.

    I listened again for the birds and noted that the crows had quieted, the morning doves had taken over cooing and the mother robin in the holly tree was chatting noisily with her babies. Audibly, things had changed.

    "It's coming, don't worry" I swore I heard the peach beauty whisper to me, gratefully soaking up the water in the vase as I snapped photos of her. If she had managed to survive, others could too. We all will. The rain will come, the roses will return, and my heat induced haze will recede.
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