Friday afternoon, 8 July
Wind's up. I see clouds mounded in the west all hues of white and ivory, lavender and gold. Maybe they'll move this way. No matter. In this moment the cooling air ahead of them moves this world. And the junipers shimmy and nod and sign to one another in ponderous treeish excitement. (Is there an adjective for "like or of a tree"? Arborescent? Arboresque? [Arboreal. Another official Alzheimer's moment. Thank you, Mr. Jones.])
Below them on the flat ascent the grasses ripple, a liquid undulating under breath-freshets.
I've been soaking potential planting areas with creekwater today, calling the hard dead soil back to life. The birds, although I rarely spot them, continue singing. My open bedroom window admits all music--water, wind, bird--and it feels--I feel sometimes like I'm adrift in the low gondola of a hot air balloon.
Greta shudders and twitches in deep sleep beside me.
Saturday midmorning, 9 July
I'm missing the big Davis Creek yard sale. I had intended to go. But when I woke up today there was a fire burning to work on a little book I'm putting together with a friend, and so this is what I've been doing. As I download and print poems I brake to breakfast--French toast and black tea--and break to bake, starting the sponge for another round of loaves. I've waited for many weeks in vain for the fresh-ground organic flour the local supermarket so reliably has stocked. But it remains absent from the grocer's shelf and finally I couldn't wait any longer: store-bought bread, even the organic whole-grain stuff, is like cardboard to me now. I'm working with Gold Medal Whole Wheat Flour today. It doesn't smell rancid, so we have that going for us....
Those clouds from yesterday traveled here in the night. I awoke at 6 to blessed gray as far as you can see. It's been so hot and dry. Now we have some unexpected respite. The flannel shirt and sweater feel familiar and good. Little droplets strike our faces as we inspect the new new world of cool.
10:24:32 AM 
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