fickle indy.

Indy, you've betrayed me, I don't know what to expect of you anymore. When I came to you, I thought it would be familiar but also new and fun. It should feel like home, but lately I just don't recognize you.

In the fall, I expected a damp morning turning to a golden afternoon with the sun warming me, a cool breeze tickling the back of my neck. A moment when I think it's cooling down for good and I am blessed with a reprieve to shorts and sun kissed skin. I long for that warmth, for a gentle deliverance into a cooler time, I need it to slowly remind me of what's to come. Something changed last year, it wasn't the same, I didn't like it.

Along has come August and we seem to be headed into an unpleasent return of what happened last year. It should be hot. and dry. When I'm out, the wind that blows in my face should feel like hot expelled breath. My yard should be parched and desperate for water. Instead, you have turned a cold shoulder toward me, too cold, too fast. I need moderation and a slow change. I'm shocked and not ready for this. I sit outside with my arms wrapped around myself shivering. I don't know what has happened to change you. I long for the old days in my memories. I don't know where things are headed with us.