I need darkness. I need to burrow into the cool, moist earth for some relief.
I despise this glaring, gleaming, polished chrome blindness that is driving in July.
And the heat... !
All I can say is that it's no wonder that murdered drifters are rolled up in carpets and stored in the third floor "sewing room" in Louisiana. The heat will do that to you.
I am languishing in the languid torpor that is summer.
Oh God!
I long for the crisp damp chill of autumn.
Pumpkin hunting! Tromping through crunchy yellow and rust colored leaves. The smell of wood smoke in the air promising a crackling fire waiting at home.
Not this... warm gelatin that we call "air".
I shall draw the drapes and wait for nightfall. I shall not emerge until October 1.
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