So hot, that our smoke and heat detector refused to be quiet, leading Ed to rip the battery out (Ed, you can't do that! We're awake, there's no fire. I'll put it in tonight), which only means that it utters an annoying beepy noise every now and then, rather than a continuous screech.
And on this hottest of hot days, Madison Gas and Electric had a morning explosion and fire, leaving thousands downtown without power. That outage just missed my mother's building. Elsewhere, people are scrambling to find cooling spots.
Knowing that this wave of furnace air was coming, I went out early to feed the cats. There are now only five kittens left and Dance, who never goes anywhere, has disappeared. I imagine she found a spot to deliver her litter. What a day to pick for your birthing day!
The constant nightly storms have rinsed our garden clean, so that we cannot really fool mosquitoes anymore: the pizza-like repellent is nearly gone. The bugs are returning, suitcases in hand. Still, I work the flower fields this morning without pause. Better get it done now, before the afternoon sweltering heat settles in.
I snip 640 spent day lilies.
(here's one that's just coming into bloom today)
There is no earthly reason to spend any time on the porch. Nonetheless, we eat breakfast there. That memory of a long bleak winter hasn't totally left me yet.
The flower beds are built around lilies and I can say with confidence that this is their very best moment: abundance, color, vitality. It's all there.
(looking out from the porch: what about this is not sublime??)
In the evening, a deer comes to help decapitate some of the lily heads. I tell her to go away. She says -- no, please share. Farm visitors are so unreasonable.
Night. The air conditioning is on. The air outside is sticky hot. Tomorrow, we'll get the pounding rains again. Storms, thunder -- all of it. But right now it's quiet. Sticky hot and quiet.