SHADY SENSUALITY: in praise of trees, shade, and Mosey Mode

Following some dramatic, thunderous rains, the summer heat broke a few days ago — and while I know it’ll show back up for an encore, fall is definitely in the air.  Our little dog Buddy Bear is still chasing dragonflies, butterflies, and of course the ever-present squirrels. He’s a fierce seven-pound backyard protector, keeping us safe from marauding, man-eating squirrels.

Robert and I are enjoying our new deck under the big elm. Its shade killed grass but now provides a cool arching umbrella, a great setting for an early cup of coffee or an evening glass of wine. I’m determined to sit out there several times a week all through the winter — oversized sweater and all.

I’m remembering a time, some years ago, when we still had our two cats. We decided to make love in the back yard. We brought out a quilt, some pillows, a boom box with our favorite turn-on music, a tray of nibbles, and champagne and crystal glasses. This was going to be a class affair. No stars … kind of cloudy … but nice. Turned on the music, poured the bubbly, had some fancy cheese on scalloped crackers, started making out. The cats were fascinated, walking all around and over us.

Then suddenly, BOOM! It started to pour. We’re talking fire hose rain!. We snorted champagne out our noses, frantically pulled food/wine/glasses/quilt/pillows/boom box together, pounded into the house, and laughed ourselves silly.

Did we make love? That WAS making love. We just didn’t happen to have sex.

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