It was cold, and then it was hot, and now it’s cold, with soft sweet rain. Bill is off to Califreakinfornia, to space out on space music, which is excellent.
At the moment it’s just Wyatt and I, listening to Van Morrison. He’s chewing on my scissor handles, and I’m beading something spectacular, waiting out St. Louis. Today it’s a draw; the soft rain is so sweet and so stopping the lawnmowers that even though there is a river running down the street it is by definition the best rain ever.
I am missing squeezling the Wild Fishstick, of course. Twelve days, this time.
I wonder if the ants have carried all of the palo verde blossoms Down Under yet. Or if they will. There are so many more flowers to choose from this year, with all of the jasmine and honeysuckle in range.
It’s been amazing to have all of the rave book reviews coming in this week, and so many people ordering Volume II.
It’s just unspeakably thrilling that people are as excited about it as I am.