Last Gasp of Summer

It must be the heat, the heat and humidity. I feel like I screwed my head on crooked this morning and haven't been able to think straight since. It reminds me of Texas, actually (the weather, that is), and in more ways than one. We had tornado warnings tonight in South Central Maine. The good thing is, we have basements, but they're not usually meant for hiding, or at least not from the weather.

I suspect it's global warming, or perhaps El Nino or La Nina -- whatever the weather people are naming climate fluctuations this week. In any case, we're not exactly accustomed to the idea of funnel clouds. Thunderstorms, absolutely, but trees uprooted, roofs torn from houses, that kind of thing is supposed to happen somewhere else. Oh, and there were 12,000 lightening strikes in about an hour, too, thrown in for good measure.

Looks like Mother Nature got things a little screwy, too. But we'll adapt because this is Maine, the home of what my late aunt loved to call "that stern and rocky coast." Where hardy people struggle with the elements and winter seems like the longest season of the year.

There's a silver cloud to this lining: next Friday we'll see lows in the 40s. Brewers have released seasonal pumpkin ales, the apples are falling from the tree alongside the house, and I see glimpses of yellow among the mass of green leaves in the forest. All we have to do is get through the last gasp of summer. If only it didn't have such hot breath.


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