Ferd the Flamingo has lived in the patch of dirt near my driveway, surrounded by about half a dozen of his tchotchke friends, for several years now. He's a metal sculpture, originally painted hot pink, and he needs at least one piece of jagged flagstone planted on his tiny toes to stay upright on his perch these days.
My neighbor Ann gave me Ferd. She, from time to time, will update my yard art collection with a new goo-gaw she has acquired somewhere or another. But poor Ferd, bless his heart, is in a funk right now.
The weeds of summer are encroaching quickly on his little patch. Rust erodes his tin-can construction. And alas, his robust hot-pink façade of years gone by has, over time, faded to Pepto Bismal hues.
Ferd, I believe, is emblematic of the way I feel today. Summer has quickly come up hard against the cusp of fall, and I'm having a hard time letting go. I do believe I'm going to need a piece of jagged flagstone to prop me up Tuesday morning as I stand at attention in the front of Room 215, wondering what the new school year will bring.
Gotta spend the next two days shaking off the rust and yanking all those weeds that I've allowed to take root over the past two months. Wish me luck!