The Killin Season

It was a long winter, but a relatively mild one, which means my freckles are now fighting for space with mosquito bites. And its June; the mosquitoes haven't even had that much time to have skeeter-breeding orgies in Drew's old tires yet.

The county's mosquito control team (which has apparently purchased a second-hand meter-maid scooter to use as a patrol vehicle) has been out driving around the area, wondering what to do.

The grass in the park was treated this morning with something poisony smelling. I guess its for the best, with the soccer kids and all the flea-bitten mutts piddling about (with any luck, it's just the mutts doing the piddling).

I hope its not too earth-killing.

But as the dogs and I walked and piddled this morning (again, the parties of the first part are the only ones indulging in the party of the second part), we saw a dragonfly lying in the smelly grass, its nearly-there wings wrongly still.

There must be a better way.