Dry, Cool.

Got out of the car at the grocery on Saturday, and a gentleman in a huge blue Dodge duelie was blasting late-1950s solo Thelonius Monk on his stereo, right up at the edge of what the speakers could take.

Tonight at the cut-rate $1-dog-and-beer ballgame, sat in a long, long sunset while the temps fell down through the upper seventies and the Whoevers got locked in what turned out to be a lovely pitchers' duel with the Grasshoppers nee Bats nee I think Hornets.

Weather feels like it's been the same for two weeks. Everything feels like it's been the same for two weeks. It doesn't rain. Almost every day, something turns up on the radar, but the radar runs from Tennessee to the ocean, so etcetera. If it didn't keep getting so damn lovely in the evenings, I'd be ready to register some manner of droughty lament. As it is, I guess I'll take it. But it could rain and it would not break my heart. Even on Sunday, when it rained, it did not really rain.

Full moon tonight, or close to. Dog curled tight as a dinner plate on the sofa. Junebugs piloting themselves again and again into the back porch light. It's July. It's starting to get pretty damn dry. Water your crops as best you can.