More Storms.

Many more: Hannah, Ike and Josephine. Sounds like a 60's protest band. Hannah wants to protest by dropping, so the fancies think right now anyway, five more inches of rain on us after hitting, perhaps, Jacksonville, Savannah, and maybe Myrtle. Ike might be headed for the Gulf via Cuba and Miami, and Josephine could go just about anywhere. Gustav's in Arkansas, or nearly so, and may eventually slide some moisture our way. For those of you keeping score, the roof still leaks and the shed's still a rank mystery. Should be a fun weekend. I'm thinking a lot about flashing right now. Oh, the clear and obvious fallacy that is climate change. And, for that matter, slab foundations.

I wore my back-to-school outfit today.

A question from one of my 2:20-4:00ers: So, um, what should we write our poem about?
Me: I have no idea, but it better be good.

Then I told them that what was most likely the truth was that I had no real ability or promise in terms of teaching them how to write. Maybe I can show them what to read, I said, and maybe I can show them how to read it. Maybe I can show them how not to write. Maybe I can just have them all come over and dig in a huge French drain around the shed. Whatever the truth is, I see them again on Thursday, and need to think up something new to tell them by then.

Hot and sunny here, friends and fans of weather, but not, I don't think, for long.