Climate Change?

Oh, they tell me of a land where no storm clouds rise,
Oh, they tell me of a land far away,
Oh, they tell me of an unclouded day

This song kept running through my mind recently.
Somebody's idea of heaven. Whoever wrote it never
spent much time in North Georgia during the summer.
August heat is blasting us already, even before
summer has officially begun. Atlanta registered a
record-breaking 98 degrees last Monday. Low to mid-
90's here everyday, and I went out and bought a fan.

What a relief when the storm clouds rose. Lots of
lightning slashing the humid air and crashing thunder.
The water in the creek had been receding, evaporated by
the heat, and I had been carrying water to my tomato and
pepper plants every evening, only to see the plants
beginning to wilt the next day, the earth around them
like dust.

The break didn't last long. Next day muddy water filled
the creek, rolling on toward the Chattooga River, but the
sun blazed forth hot as ever. Another forecast rain supposed
to bring the temperature down ten degrees failed to
materialize. We had the lightning and thunder- a sound and
fury that signified nothing- but only a sprinkle here.
Now we're hearing that it will be 105 to 110 when summer
actually arrives.

And only a couple months ago I was growing impatient with
sweaters and jackets and longing for the time when I could
run outside barefoot.

I should have listened to those older and wiser folks who
used to say: "Be careful what you wish for."
Be careful- for it might come true.