There is something about dead grass, swollen fingers, and hot concrete that leave a girl feeling less than inspired.
Brown is not a color that typically screams inspirational, either.
But on a sticky, icky July day, I take what I can and head to the waters, brown from dirt pushed to shore and even though I know it’s mucky, I glide in anyhow.
Halfway to Country Man’s daily grind, he meets me there at noon for a walk along the shoreline, seeing what we discover.
And just like last time, a number of lures poke from the sand to say hello, don’t leave me, and he places them into his pockets for their new home in the tackle box.
The dogs explore as we look further west, seeing something poke from the river big enough to intrigue ol’ Nessie herself.
Curious, we swim out toward it to uncover a tossed aside picnic table, still in good condition but in need of a little work.
Guiding it back east toward our spot on the shore, we stop a moment to breath, to swim, to enjoy the day and the dirty clay bay.
An unconventional day, respite from the heat.
Another ordinary day turned divine, at least in these eyes.