Boy's Life.

I haven't even set foot outside this morning, but from here at the table with the boy half-sleeping next to me, it looks hot. I have to papoose the child here shortly, have to ferry watering cans back and forth from the front yard's blown-out hose to the back yard's nascent grass seedlings. One does not want to let new grass ride unwatered through the upper eighties here on the Piedmont. Not in mid-June. Not in the direct sun.

I don't really know what day it is, don't know what the forecast is outside of summer-hot, don't know when the last time was it rained except to say that it's been since we brought EJO home to the world, that fussy motherfucker. Or not fussy. Just in want, right now, of being picked up, of being held close, and as tired as I am, I can't quite begrudge him that. I could use me some of that, too. And some more coffee.

Put your fingers in your mouths, friends and fans of weather. That seems to help. Some.