It was so wet, even the frogs had to look for higher ground. Right now they were clinging to the siding on the south wall outside my house. The ground was soaked and flooded, the rain was still coming, and the weather map showed a bright red extreme weather spot right over us. I might have to make like a frog soon, and climb up to the top of my house.
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I put this question to the group of co-workers sharing lunch in the cafeteria.
Quick! Best getaway for someone who lives in the desert? It has to involve green plants in abundance and lots of water.
The coast of France came up, Florida was suggested, one person thought Oregon was a good idea. Nearby mountain lakes made the list. It all sounded wonderful. And expensive. So I spent my weekend in a lawn chair fishing under some cottonwoods near the river.
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He knocked on my door and introduced himself. He had some strange sounding foreign name and I told him to go away. He was pretty scary looking with dark skin and odd robes instead of a normal person’s clothes. I saw him knocking on the neighbor’s door. She let him in! I thought about calling the police, but I got out my pistol instead. I hid it under my shirt and went over to see if my neighbor needed help. . . .
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When Richard was a boy we called him Little Richard because his dad was Richard, too. After a while we just called him Little. He’s a grown man now, over 6 feet tall and big as an outhouse, but everyone in the family still calls him Little. He gets angry and wants us to use his name. The name he wants us to use is Stella. He wants us to use different pronouns, too. It’s very hard to change after all these years.
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It’s a party outside! Everything is waking up, coming alive. New shoots, new blooms, leaves bursting from buds. Spring is not just a season, it’s a metaphor for burgeoning life and hope. The longer days, the sun, the daffodils! Let’s all party.
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