876 shopping days until 22.214.171.124.0 4 Ahau 3 K’ank’in.
August is coming.
In fact, in my mind it is already August. I wrote and posted a little poem on Facebook, and the first line is “August’s full moon rises…” I don’t think anyone noticed, even though Deb, Jason, and James gave it the Facebook thumbs-up and “liked” it. Perhaps it is already August for them, too.
I revised the poemlet, the faceboku, the squiblet, slightly:
The full moon of July lifts
above the hash of ghosts.
In the dark of kitchen
Coltrane pours out of the radio
like water overflowing the sink.
This is the first summer I’ve spent outside of Oklahoma for more than a decade, and I’ve been trying on the weather in the Land of Fred (Frederick, Maryland) like a new shirt, feeling it on my skin, admiring myself in it in the mirror of what is. The subtle differences are hard to describe. The air is softer here than in Oklahoma. The humidity is higher. Now that the trees and what all have leafed out, there’s an incredible lushness to the landscape of central Maryland. In the farmers’ fields, the standing corn is truly “as high as an elephant’s eye.” When I wandered down to the Monocacy River near Buckeystown, to wet my fishing line and catch my wits, I passed by a farm where a harvester was already cutting that high corn.
We’ve had some truly blazing hot days when all I wanted to do was pitch a tent of bedsheets over the air conditioning vent and camp, but I like to walk; not in the mall or on a treadmill, thank you, but out of doors. I am obliged to go walkies with Annie Beagle–daily, if possible, to exercise whatever devils that may infest both our spirits, not having a herd of swine to cast them into, nor cliff to run them off. Walkies in the evening, walkies in the morning, but we do not go out in the noonday sun, because I may be crazy, but I am not an Englishman.
It is reported by those pesky scientists that this is the hottest summer on record, but most of the weatherman and talking heads never mention global warming. I’ve read that most TV weatherman (in America, at least) do not believe that global warming and anthropotentiated climate change. The link to that article is lost somewhere in my Facebook profile. In Crazytown just south of here, the parliament of whores can’t even put together a bill that addresses the matter, much less pass one. It’s not the heat, it’s the stupidity. It’s not the heat, it’s the cupidity. Also. Too.
It’s a melancholy heat.