Joy outside the door

And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips/Bidding adieu -- John Keats, "Ode on Melancholy" August. You again. I lamented your presence a few years back, and I stand by it. This year you also coincide with a hellacious US political sh*tshow featuring an overtly racist, sexist, xenophobic, hate-mongering, spray-tanned stinkbomb of a presidential candidate …

Visible heat

The temps this week are supposed to be in the low 100s, which means I-don't-know-what for the heat index. Yesterday, I was driving home from our weekly beating (aka grocery shopping), when I noticed what I've heard people talk about in the South: you can see the heat. There it was, a heavy, tin-can gray …