Good morning world

There's a heat advisory today from the National Weather Service. The weather app on my phone says 99 degrees by mid-afternoon. It's 7am and I'm sitting outside. It's not hot yet, but it's oppressively humid and the ground is wet after a big storm last night. More little bugs than usual are floating around my chair. I'll be scratching the mosquito bites later. 

But the birds are chirping almost continuously, a canopy of invisible sound woven into the bright green of the maple overhead, answered from the darker green of the maple down the street. The cardinal is calling from somewhere behind me. Things are growing: basil in the pot, dill in the ground, grass and weeds and hidden molds that will aggravate my allergies for the rest of the week. It feels like the midwest version of a tropical rain forest. 

I'm lucky to have this view on the world: substantial trees planted in the parkway, land around my house that hosts lush weedy greenery, urban birds for company. It's not the natural world. There's too much concrete. There are cars. But it's enough like it to be comforting and renewing, even as I hear the garbage truck working its way down the alley. 

Good morning world.