I am ready for fall. I expect the mice and apple cider any day. I am ready for the flies to quit tickling my toes, my knee, my arm, my arm, my ARM GET OFF ME AAAAGH!!! Go dormant already, tormentors!
The weather has cooled and pooled, there was rain today and ruffles along the tops of all the trees. Every road and field has a yellow hem; the ragged skirts of summer's disdain for her clothing.
This weekend, we are borrowing a dog. We will keep him for at least a week, with a wary eye on someone's lungs. Karin is over the moon. I confess to being halfway there myself just at the chance, the chance, o! the possibility that things will go well, that allergies will remain unmanifested, that furry petable barkity horizons will suddenly open up again.
I cannot write more; there is reading to be done. A bibliopull beyond my control or my desire to refuse. 3 chapters in to this next-to-last story and I am already regretting it will end and ending bring a momentary desolation. I lap them up like milk and roll in them like clover. Are you reading, too? What are you reading? What will you read next?