Crepuscular Rhythms at Meteorological Summertime

The days are long and I spend my afternoons swatting flies and dreaming of rain

It is meteorological summertime. It seems like only a month or two ago that I was here extolling the virtues of slap-shotting frozen cowpies across the loafing yard, and now, six months or so since I began this writing project, the turds are still just as hard, petrified by the hot winds of an arid and unrelenting high pressure weather pattern sitting o…