It must be those hazy, hot and humid days of summer - there have been so many of them.
The light is thick and golden and heavy. Maybe it is like this in New Orleans all the time?
I miss the cool, blue light of Newfoundland. I miss it so much that I actively try to not think about it. Good thing I have so much training in putting my mind to be where I want it to be when I want it to be there. My mind wants to be on a rock in the North Atlantic but somehow it got stuck in a William Faulkner novel.
|Could such a plant seriously exist any place labelled "northerly"?|
As I write this, the cicadas are singing their pervasive chorus. Everything is green and lush in a way that seems, frankly, unnatural. Next thing, I'll be talkin' right slow-like and voting Republican.