hot air

Taking rosie to campus was incredible: a burst of summer air pushed the temps into the mid nineties. The world is one warm, damp sponge. A moped ride at top speed (rosie can never go above 40 mph) is the ticket to a cooler world.

Campus seems hazy; the air is sticky, people would just as soon eat inside.






A city is never well partnered with scorching heat. I'm so much happier, later in the afternoon, to be turning rosie back home. To the bands of gold in the now drying soy fields.






I take my work for the rest of the day to the porch, despite the heat. A fan will move the air. I'm happy to be outdoors still. Winter seems far off.


Early evening. We are to meet up with Farmer Lee and her English speaking daughter-in-law in their fields of flowers. We'll lead them to the place that Ed found -- a place where the landowner is willing (perhaps even happy?) to clear land for her. How much does she want? Three, four, maybe five acres.

Done!

The land will be turned over. Scrub, weeds pulled out. (It was once a farm but it had succumbed to the invasives.) We walk the jungle of brush...






...and I can see that she is happy. She sees the possibilities.






In fact, I've never seen her so excited.

As Ed and I drive off on his motorbike, I pat him on the back. You did good, buddy.
We turn toward the tennis court. I didn't take good shoes, so like Ed, I go barefoot. Ed tells me that my game has never been better.






At home, I place the glads -- a gift from Farmer Lee -- in my biggest vase, so that they can do their show off act -- their explosion of cheer.






A good evening. A quiet time.  An early to sleep time.


And early to rise. I walk the garden, telling my flowers - hang in there, just one more day of this heat!











We eat breakfast on the porch, but I keep my books open, at the side. It's going to be a hot and packed to the brim day.  To a gentler rest of the week. Cooler, gentler, I'll accept both.