Lemonade: It wasn’t too hot today. Thin, breezy heat. Drove to the library and checked out a jazz album. I could smell barbecue from behind the neighboring houses. A smoky, woodchip smell intermingled with summer flowers and a hint of gasoline. That’s when you know summer’s swingin’.

Water: Spent an hour in the afternoon with the radio on (jazz station, again) and writing poetry.  I listened to the nub scratch across the notebook—thick, thin, sweep, point strokes. At this point, cursive feels more natural than print.

Iced Tea: I think I’m going to spend the rest of summer revisiting the books I’ve read during the year. The total is close to fifty, so it’s a nice, hefty and diverse selection. Neuromancer is back on my mind, for some reason. I can never quite understand why.


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