This town has settled into another humid haze. It hovers like a thick swallow in my neck, then down, down, low and heavy around my hot feet. All I hear is the slow, steady squeak of the fan as it sways back and forth, pushing the hot air this way and that.
I'm tired just thinking about it.
Relief will come later this evening—just as soon as my wild plum and raspberry sorbet finishes churning in the ice cream maker. I'll have it for dinner, let it cool my hot throat.
Then this weekend, relief again as we leave the city for the cooler hills in Southern Vermont—my old stomping grounds—for a quick visit to see Auntie Lucy and Uncle John. Then a wedding at Stratton. Hopefully a stop at Mother Myrick's and the Vermont Country Store on our way home on Sunday.
That's the best I can do for inspiration at the moment in this steam machine...