The Sign of Summer

Not the date on the calendar.
Not the warm breezes.
Not the longer days.
Not the buds on the trees.
Not the Robin Redbreast, or whomever else comes out when it's warm.
Not the sprinkers.
Not skinned knees, or bike rides, or sandals.
Not the pool opening, or popsicles, or short sleeves or tan lines.

It's the dirt ring around my bathtub.

Now I know, it's summer.