It has been so hot for so
long I think this is the first year in all time when the end of July does not
bring an hour’s taste of autumn. I am painting the house obsessively, eyeing
the wild raspberries that ripen along the trail. They may not wait for me to
make jam. Paint or jam? Paint or jam? I can only obsess on one thing at a time.
Then, suddenly--I
wake to no swelter. Up!
Quick!
Must call for hay! Now!
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