Fall is encroaching, faster than you can bat your eyes at the pool guy. If you have a pool, that is. I have a pond and a blue heron. He appears to be quite a looker but he's so shy, it's hard to tell.
Don't get me wrong, I love everything about fall. From the way it waltzes in without so much as a knock at the door, knowing full well it's expected and welcome by those weary of an overripe summer, to the way it lingers around just in time for Christmas, most years.
And while the days this time of year are no longer hot and humid, they don't yet have that familiar fall smell, which means they're unpredictable. And it's that uncertainty that forces me to be fickle about when I do the laundry. After ruling out the days I must hightail it to the city to collect that overrated pay cheque, my options are pretty slim.
So on a fine morning such as today, when the sun is shining and a gentle breeze blows through the yard, the Artist and his faithful sidekick....
have decided to burn some brush.
If you pass someone on the street this week, whose clothes have a distinguishable odour of smoke about them, be sure to say hello.
It will be me.
~Be well friends~