Where Have All the Flowers Gone

Another summer, another debilitating and pestilent drought. The dust that covers every piece of open ground is a reminder that if this weather extends into the early fall we can expect another heavy hit of hemorrhagic fever among the deer herd. Near the horse lot there is a block of woods of several thousand acres with less than a dozen spots of water, and many of them holding less than ten gallons of water. The sky was dark and promising yesterday but the clouds were only able to spit down a few drops. It was as if the clouds had forgotten how to rain.

But life limps on. We have had a very good spring of wild turkey hatchings and the turkey population continues to grow. A few weeks ago we got to watch a young bear amble through the woods during a morning ride. The rabbits have been breeding like rabbits and there are more of them around the horse lot then I have ever known there to be. But, somehow, the bursts of energy that the little rabbits show only seems to highlight the dearth of life all around them.

Droughts do not come in with a bang. They slowly, quietly, slip in without notice. The same is true of the droughts within us. There was a time when I could write something light and funny without the slightest effort. But over the years the cloud within me has forgotten how to rain. There was a time when the courtroom was my parlor, a play room where both fun and justice was doled out in sufficient helpings.

I do not remember the last time I caused a courtroom to erupt in laughter. I was caught off guard when a clerk asked me why I never went back into the clerk's office before court and told stories like I did years ago. I had to admit to her that things simply were not as funny as they once were.