A miserable summer in Northern California. I am told that I should not complain. In Russia the crops were destroyed from the heat waves, in Pakistan the floods destroyed entire villages, in the East Coast of America the heat waves are unrelenting.
Yet I complain about the morning fog. The dreary sense of dark, mold that is entering my bones. My tomatoes are not turning red. But, the flowers are not wilting. I know the heat will be here in late September when the days are shorter, when I will want to be inside. Where I will want to think of fall type things, going to the theater. Music. Yes, classical music.