Dry Days.

I think it's trying to rain, but it's been so long since it's done it I can't really trust my trick knee or my under-tabled dog or the radar that has rain on it or the funky breeze or the maple leaves inside-out.

This is not a forecast. This is something else.

In The-Kindness-Of-Strangers-News, on coming back up the hill from the dogwalk, I noticed a guy peering intently at his lawn-service van, then down the hill at me, then back at his van. When the dog and I got close enough, the guy said, "Hey, man, I'nt know if I'd come by this way. Think I drove over a yellowjacket nest when I parked here." Sure enough: many, many bees, and all of them very, very angry at the van. The dog and I crossed the street. The guy kept watching the bees attack his van. He looked not so much afraid or nervous as just fascinated by the whole thing, amazed at what he'd done. Here's hoping he didn't get stung. Here's hoping he got that lawn mowed. Here's hoping all those bees went back to whatever they were doing before they got parked on.