The past several days have been oppressively hot and humid, with temps in the nineties and the air so thick you could practically see what you were breathing should you have to go outside. It was good this morning to wake up to find the temperature some ten degrees cooler, the humidity somewhat less heavy and a lovely breeze blowing with just a faint hint of rain chill in it. Lord knows where it comes from--unless it's carried from the worrisome flooding rains in the Midwest; we've had only scattered thunderstorms bearing scant rain the past couple of weeks in the knobs.

The wind though makes it a good day to hang out laundry. My clothesline is on the east side of the house, a few feet from a gigantic weeping willow. This morning as I hung out shorts and tank tops and tee shirts the willow and the wind sang a soft duet; good balm for the soul.

As the day wears on tall clouds are starting to pile up in a ring around us; the meteorologists around are calling for a sixty percent chance of rain tomorrow. We can certainly use the rain, but I'm gonna leave my clothes on the line as long as I can, letting the sun bleach the whites and all of them absorb the soft scents of hay and flowers. I've always loved the smell of line dried wash. I could call it a link back to the old days of my ancestors, but it's more than that; it's a simple sensuous pleasure.



Later, dears. Fair thee well.