Some days I read, some days I write.
Weather Poem
A cool, damp thought for readers in parching places: The air's damp here. A thunderstorm two weeks ago killed my newer, smaller desktop monitor. I was so thankful that the big old clunky one still worked. The old clunky monitor always worked in all kinds of weather, but humidity turned the display a really bright mustard yellow, a horrid shade. It's horrid yellow this morning. I turned on the fan last night because I felt sweaty, then turned it off because I felt cold. The sky is cloudy. The not-a-lawn is dripping wet from last night's heavy rain. 70 degrees at the Weather Station--but it's cloudy--I'll guess 66 here, then go out and check as I take the cats their breakfast. (I don't write these things in alphabetical order by category. This paragraph is the first part of today's log; the sun's just peeking over the hill, behind the clouds, here.)...Yes, exactly 66 degrees. No need to envy this cool damp summer; my town loves visitors, you can come out and help soak it up. And here's a rainy poem from Ontario for you:
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