Temp 96 degrees F. today. We estivate, Doctor. (Although I suspect the online thermometer may be malfunctioning.)
As the sun finally releases us for the evening, we emerge blinking from the (relative) cool of the back room, shaking language back into our brains. It's almost time to head to the creek and prime the little pump and send water flowing into troughs and bowls and around the suffering plants.
Yellow cat Ruth kneads the keyboard that lies across my knees. Orange cat Ted remains deep in coma on the easy chair in the corner. His brother Leo will not eat. Fluffy gray Piffle has gone missing; she always does this when Ranger visits.
If there was a round-up yesterday, they missed a few. Nine or ten head--black, black-and-white, brown; calves among them--grazed and complained in the yard this morning at 5:30. They fled en masse when we threw open the window to ask whether they required assistance. Dashed straight into the wild roses and down to what's left of the creek and clattered upstream, bawling.
They seemed lost.
***
I suppose I'll express my Theory of the Universe in disorganized dribs and drabs in a Category To Be Named Later. But here's a clue: if world events have come to feel more and more like eery cinematic cliches, it's because they actually literally are.
***
Toasted bagels and cold salmon for late dinner tonight. Who can cook?
I wish we had some wine around here.
7:05:31 PM 
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