hendrikboom

It's August. A mild humid chill in the morning air, blessed relief from the hot weather only a few days ago. The clouds are out, a reminder of the thunderstorm we were promised yesterday. A peal of thunder -- or is it some other kind of noise. Impossible to tell in the city unless it repeats.
There's some lovely orange flowers at the back of the back yard, grown as tall as the peonies we had some time ago. I think these may be lilies of some sort. Gwen has gone to work, and my children aren't up yet. There's some noise, as if someone is tapping on wooden blocks, or bumping them together.

I seem to want to sit and look around. Well, why not do that? The not-quite chill humidity is my ideal weather; the grey clouds above are a delight. I've always preferred this kind of weather. Hot sunny days? No. let other people have them, I hate the heat; the sun is too bright. Give me air a man can breathe in comfort. There. Another gust of mild breeze just wafted over me. Heaven on Earth.