Again

I'm pleased to say that the rain a few days ago didn't damage the cherries. They turned out fairly decent this year. I like to go out in the evenings and pick a few, but, unfortunately, that's when I get bitten by the mosquitoes. Three bites right now. I am more determined than ever to get a pet bat.

I'm still unable to make many comments or reply to all the comments I've received, due to the heat. As soon as I've paid for my bat cave, I'm going to get Sluggo his own little air conditioner, so he'll stop bitching about the heat, and then I can stop bitching about the way the heat effects him.

I'm still writing stuff on paper, and having the usual problem of too many ideas popping up at once, providing all sorts of interesting alternatives which lead inevitably to confusion. Maybe I need drugs. Probably I need more exercise. Disruptions to my schedule have prevented me from going for walks for several days. That always does bad things to my brain. I'll be very glad when things settle down a bit, and this heat relents.

Enough of this. I'm going to sleep.

Still Hot

June passes with the withering jasmine blossoms which, so recently, were like a fragrant white frost clinging to the green hedge. Now, they are the faded brown of old paper filled with forgotten stories, crumbling away in some stifling attic. Their perfume is faded, too, barely scenting the night. Now is the time when, in blazing afternoons, the cats sleep under drying bushes and, if they move from place to place, stay to the shade or, when they must, hurry across the hot pavements. All the forest waits breathless for the softer air of evening, in hopes of a cooling breeze. Tomorrow, July will descend, and the desiccation continue. Summer is like unassuageable wrath.