Another fat and fetid day in the making, a sluggish slug fest that William Faulkner might have made hay from -- metaphorical homicidal thunder growling on the horizon... ugly, rancid incest passing the time and everywhere delicate porcelain overlooked with praise... a time when stupid people are contradicted at your very real peril. It's too hot to think and woe betide the fool who tries.
Yesterday was in the 90's (30's Celsius) and today promises more. Survival mode. The woodpile needs straightening, but ... well ... who knows? In California, a friend's lungs are under forest-fire-smoke assault. In the Middle East, I'm not sure if the massive sandstorm has run its unusual course. But where the air becomes a threat, what else could possibly be serious? Children and the elderly are warned. I am among the latter while feeling as pervasively inept as the former.
One hundred and seventy miles to the south, Serena Williams beat her elder sister, Venus, at the U.S. Open championships last night in New York. Two powerful, skillful women enduring the heat and eclipsing, in my mind, the male counterparts who are due to play later. It is hard to say "wow" in the thick, thick thickness of the environment.
Laughter seems to have taken a vacation.