Tonight's dog walk was a sensuous delight. The air itself had texture - but it was a nice texture and not oppressive. I could breathe! Perfume from the mimosas was heavy at Betty's corner. Further on, the corn field was tasseling. The smell of fertility herself. O Great Corn Mother, let us have corn to eat. Bless the Corn. Corn! Now we can make whiskey!
By the way, remember this connection. Arthur Daniels Midland and ethanol made from corn. I'm just saying. And I'm not saying anything.
The night sounds were intense. Cicadas and crickets in some weird jazz chorus. Not that annoying jazz. The cardinals calling out. The C130s in training.
No art today. In spite of all good intentions, no sewing or art was done. Knitting on the socks happened and I found a repeat after about 4" in the Trekking XXL. Totally random would have so much fun!
Murgatoyd and Percival are sitting out this heat in the hallway. Which means I cleared out all the shit that has been clogging the hallway every since the store closed. I feel righteous.
Fuzzarelly is Back
