I have still a few minutes before I head in to the Big House. Heat finally hit. High 90s F and dry wind. I give thanks for flat-rate water, although the succulants wither and brown, sunblasted, despite wet roots.

I typed up a yellowing sheaf of old scrawled poems on my Skyriter manual, and then reworked them in ink, as of olde. It's satisfying. My only computer burned up somehow over the weekend so I can't do fancy Office editing. I like seeing the sheets pile up on the desk and the close lines of fuzzy black Courier type all scratched and scribbled on.

The afternoon's wind pounds and rocks poor Sylvia. The little AC hums along coolly. DogApple and catGreta are happy to nap here.