Summer Looming.

Sweet baby Jesus in a microwaved bowl of water it's hot. I mean, it's not August-hot, but still: this is no kind of weather to be out wandering around in. Maybe we'll get lucky and draw another cool night like last night, though the humidity ended up being something like 435%, and so cool or no, we had to run the A/C to sleep. I love only one thing more than running the A/C full blast to sleep: not having to run the thing at all. The airport, friends and fans of nascent summer, was reporting mist at midnight. That was not mist. That's just what happens when days like yesterday and today cool off so far, so fast. That was a cloud that settled down on the the 2740Xs. That was the fog pouring out of the fridge. The steam from the dishwasher. We dry-iced ourselves. Still, it was nice.

Item: Outdoor wedding tomorrow night. In South Carolina. Coastal South Carolina. Not even seersucker might be up to that challenge.

Item: Storms off in the mountains. Who knows. Maybe we'll see something later.

But: Riding pickupped over the rise on Aycock last evening just before sunset, big windows down and the corner windows kicked open and blowing hot air through the cab, I looked out over the tops of the trees that run through Guilford Hills and around the high school and there was that deep summer haze—almost like mist, if you want—and even though I am not much for deepest summer, and maybe not even for haze, I did feel something like a happy calm—there was a familiar flag raised up, a song I sort of knew the words to. I don't know what to tell you, Weatherheads. I never do. It may just come to this: If mosquitoes and air conditioning and even the arrival of the bomb that is our daughter Edward James Olmos is the cost of whatever that little moment of peace was, then, you know, OK. Alright? OK.