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rejectomorphHaze. It imparts a golden glow to the afternoons, turns the setting sun red, and makes the moon look like a segment of a tangerine. I'm not sure where it is coming from. If it is from fires, they aren't nearby, because there is no smell of smoke. Maybe it is smog creeping in. Maybe the Gobi Desert is blowing away. I have no idea. All I know is that I miss the blue afternoons normal to this time of year, and the smoglike quality of the air is making me nostalgic for Los Angeles once again. If I can't have blue afternoons, I want Pasadena.
In the orchard, the apples are getting large, but are still green. Elsewhere in the neighborhood, there are apple trees in some yards, and a few surviving trees from abandoned orchards which are now mostly meadow. The apples on all these other trees are beginning to show red. But the apples in the orchard remain green. It has me wondering if the owners of the orchard aren't using one of those chemicals that retards the ripening process, so that all the apples can turn red and be harvested at one time. It is one of those clever agribusiness tricks that keep supermarket produce easier to distribute and relatively cheap, at the expense of flavor, texture, scent, and food value.
But I rant. I'd rather listen to the cricket who has begun chirping in the bushes outside my window. It is an unusually high-pitched chirp. It must be a young cricket, not yet large enough to make a full-sized sound. It is a pleasant distraction on this sultry evening. I'll turn Sluggo off and listen for a while.
My mouse was sticking badly, so I cleaned its innards out, and now it's all flollipy, like your arm after you bump your crazy bone. Stupid mouse.
In the orchard, the apples are getting large, but are still green. Elsewhere in the neighborhood, there are apple trees in some yards, and a few surviving trees from abandoned orchards which are now mostly meadow. The apples on all these other trees are beginning to show red. But the apples in the orchard remain green. It has me wondering if the owners of the orchard aren't using one of those chemicals that retards the ripening process, so that all the apples can turn red and be harvested at one time. It is one of those clever agribusiness tricks that keep supermarket produce easier to distribute and relatively cheap, at the expense of flavor, texture, scent, and food value.
But I rant. I'd rather listen to the cricket who has begun chirping in the bushes outside my window. It is an unusually high-pitched chirp. It must be a young cricket, not yet large enough to make a full-sized sound. It is a pleasant distraction on this sultry evening. I'll turn Sluggo off and listen for a while.
My mouse was sticking badly, so I cleaned its innards out, and now it's all flollipy, like your arm after you bump your crazy bone. Stupid mouse.
