Itchy palms

    The other day I went for a walk on the boardwalk at Congaree National Park, aka Congaree Swamp. We've been in a drought for about 20 years, so chances of seeing the wetland forest (sounds so much nicer than swamp, doesn't it?) inundated have been few. Recent rains though meant that the park should be picturesquely wet, so I brought my camera. Somehow, though, there just wasn't enough water. It was pretty, but not photogenic.
    Bu-ut... I saw a squirrel run under the low boardwalk. But it wasn't a squirrel; it was a bunny! And it came out. And started munching on river cane leaves. (Hereabouts, we tend to call that bamboo. I speculate that the bunny might be trying to evolve into a panda. Maybe it heard that "Kung Fu Panda" did better box office than "Space Jam.") So I stopped to take pictures. And the mosquitoes caught me. I murdered them in cold blood, but unfortunately, it was my blood. They hit me twice on the left palm. So now I have itchy palms for real. Am thinking of hitting up strangers for money just on general principle.
    Dreams last night were as peculiar as ever. The only one I remember though was pretty straightforward. I was driving my (much younger and healthier than in real life) dad around and he was asking me about my career plans. I told him I wanted to run a hotel. That isn't so far from real life; I want to run a b&b. Coincidentally (or not) at Congaree Swamp. Isn't life symmetrical?