Itch

I have a love-hate relationship with this time of year.

I love watching the grass pop out of it’s winter nap into an orgy of green.  I love shedding layers of clothes (not too many after my winter of sloth).

But as Katy the wonder dog wanders in with the first tick of summer, I remember all that grows is not grass.  The bug population is booming again.  And as I pick the tick with a paper towel and throw it in the woodstove, the back of my neck begins to itch.

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