it's suddenly hot and sticky out, and the wind has gone away to blow somewhere else.
the green around us is less intense, but more sodden with steam and insects.
papa's whacking the weeds, his favorite pastime.
i've made tea, screwed back up the faceplates for the outlets and switches that i took down yesterday, and industriously decoupaged with magazine photos. and later i plan on putting in some rather serious hammock time.
the dog's littering the floors i swept with toys and food and bits of debris.
and the fisherman's fixed a light, made a water-bottle fly-catcher, and later he'll go fishing, with a beer in each pocket of his vest. that's what a fisherman does.
lazy lazy lazy. i have no idea what day of the week it is.
but i'm too lazy to get up and look at a calendar.