I am remembering why I started to spend less time outdoors as I got older. First I contracted poison ivy, then mosquitoes attacked. Doesn’t that sound like a movie? “When Mosquitoes Attack…”
Today, while talking to my mother outside, something stung my bottom.
I love the outdoors, but it doesn’t always love me in return. Or perhaps it’s that it loves me too much. I don’t know. But I don’t seem to have a healthy relationship with it either way. It’s as though nature thinks it has the right to do what it wants or something. Still, I’m not giving it up. I guess I’m co-dependent that way.
