Another Pattern.

Up this morning to seventy degrees and showers and, now, a backfilling radar out west: this is August we can believe in, I think. Just when you thought we'd have that oak-killing heat set in and hold on, we get this. Tomato gardeners of the world, rejoice. Here is a reprieve for sickly dogwoods. A gentling. Wearing a pair of jeans might even be possible on a day like today, but I wouldn't yet know. It's nearly noon and I'm still in my robe. Summer.

The downhill next-doors cut down a couple of ivy-choked trees over the weekend. Probably had to be done, but the new open view is causing dreams of sugar-plums to dance through my head. And crepe myrtles. And flowering cherries. And anything else I could get to grow to eight or ten feet fairly quickly. They wanted grass in their back yard. I wanted shade and privacy. Sometimes the bear gets you.

What else to tell you, weatherheads? There is not much. I was asked point-blank yesterday what I thought the chances were of it raining at noon today, and I said we were probably in the kind of pattern that would give us sunshine and then afternoon and evening storms. Little did I know we would wake up to a preview of October. This is the summer of all the months at once. Here's your local forecast: nobody knows. Probably what you ought to do is get dressed and go on out there and have a look for yourself.