I took the day off from blogging, yesterday, to do a favor for the editor of the Daily Review Atlas. I'm not sure if my efforts were worth it. I've been a bit distracted by the weather.
We will see in about a week.
On the topic of the wx, I was reminiscing about rainfall, yesterday, with my mother. We're in a month-long drought, now. Storms with rain and hail have passed by us to both the north and south, while we've kept dry. I've had to carry water to all my pretty little garden plants, just to keep them alive. The lawn is (thank you, God, for making it so I don't have to mow) dying. A raccoon has been coming by nightly to steal the drinking water I put out in bowls for the many local stray cats. Birds and squirrels are taking advantage of the same supply, so I guess I am, as my neighbor says, turning into a regular Saint Francis of Monmouth.
So, there I was, sighing and wishing for a long, slow, steady, smooth, gentle, deep rain that would last forever -- or, at least until we were refreshed and satisfied, and I realized I was talking about weather the way I used to talk about sex.
Celibacy has its downside, it seems.