Have just returned from back-to-back outdoor social events featuring mass quantities of food. Am covered with sweat, sunscreen, and (on my ankles) bug bites, and am much too well fed.
Party A featured mainly cold foods, including slices of sandwich wraps, salads, cold meats, and fruit, followed by ice cream and very nice lemon poundcake. Party B featured flame-grilled hamburgers and hotdogs, spicy pork ribs, veggie crudites, and potato and cucumber salads, followed by strawberry and peach shortcakes and smillaraaq's very evil chocolate brownies.
I am in a food-induced stupor.
On the way to the Metro this morning, I saw a tiger swallowtail butterfly. I haven't seen one in years. The cicadas were shimmering and simmering zim-zim-zim from the trees. The August Moon hostas will be coming into bloom: my late father called them August lilies and told me that they bloomed especially for my birthday. I knew he was joking.
August: the dog days of summer, when time seems to stand still. And this year I will be 51 years old. And ... I hate hot weather.
(More frivolously: it's dead easy to find a picture of a dog wearing sunglasses on Flickr Creative Commons.)