Getting warmer out there, near 100 by week's end, so that means it's getting warmer in here, too [tilts head, taps temple, nods knowingly].
The hotter it gets outdoors, the more bees I seem to have in my head, if not in my actual bonnet, or my pants, or elsewise stuck in other uncomfortable, compromising places that are on, in, or around my own highly-personal person.
Behold: The coming and going of the longest day of the year! Behold, the season of easy living! (Well, once the inexorable, excremental, weekly yard work -- and the semi-satisfying begriping about it -- is all done.)
It is an unbenighted time that is now upon us -- not to get too tangled up in double reverses and triple negatives. It the time of year in which one can be easily lulled into a false sense of bright promise, by day-dreamy heat-wave brain-fogs, further precipitated by such beclement hammock weather and by the planted seed of an ice cold beer, calmly betaken and beswigged, once necessary labors have been temporarily clubbed into submission. Again.
I am becalmed, bemused, and besprinkled with summer's besmiting pixie dust. I am also as behumbled as I can be, and beguiled and bemarveled -- and even bespoke, in point of fact -- plus, as a bewelcomed bonus, I am utterly and deeply beholden for such fine days.
As should we all be, from time to time, having so far dodged -- to this exact moment, anyway -- all that life could heave and topple our way, and still have us remain somewhat upright, somewhat trembling, somewhat ready for more.
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