The bamboo that hugs the house has grown like gangbusters this summer. It has thrived in the semi-tropical conditions. It has grown so much that it obscures my view, bending over as if to shake its head.

This morning I think it’s saying, what’s happened to the summer? Already two-thirds gone. Didn’t it just begin yesterday? Has it vanished in the glare of 90-plus-degree days, of heat warnings and thunderstorms? Or has it just skedaddled out of here with the increasing velocity of all my days?

No way to know.

What is certain, though, is that it’s blocking my light. So down to the deck I will go to shake the plant out of its lethargy, to bend it enough that it springs out from under the eaves, to put it in its place again. It won’t behave for long — bamboo never does — but at least for a few minutes I’ll have my view again.