The Real Me Now

The wavy hours in the heat of summer slip by as I trudge to the back pen. The animals constantly kick over their buckets of water, and each time I pass the barn, and make my way down the long curvy path to their abode, the grass seems a little crunchier under my feet. The heat beats me down and, once back inside the house, I sit here aching and a little burnt on the shoulders and cheeks. When did I become my parents, mimicking every groan as I move slowly from my favorite worn in cushion?