Reluctantly the wind ineluctably backs away causing the feels-like temperature to bear an increasing similarity to the quotation provided by the thermometer. A day of nonstandard holiness consonant with a thirteenth that is also a friday; the sun grows growling heatedly. I know the rule that wants you to capitalize the days of the week and I am violating it willfully. I spent a little time pulling dead yellow grass from the alley side of the fence for no other reason than to enjoy the return of the solar blessing.

Running up to the now there have been days where all the laundry was done. But never in recent memory has there been one where that was true and so much else–a day that felt caught up to itself. There are foods both raw and cooked ready and waiting and beds made up in the same temperate conditions.

A bill that I have scheduled to pay early on this day of the month was in fact paid on this day. I awoke rested at a quarter to eight. The small discrete piles of the truly important and barely urgent things are laid out in a comprehensible pattern in the antechamber that I used to call my lab. All these things are evidence for a conclusion I feel no compulsion to prove.

They say that over the next several days the clear warmth will hold and even grip still gently harder. Thus did I learn how to load my new staple gun, because securing mesh around pallets is the first delayed real step in the process of erecting a shed from the kit. I’m ready. There’s a router and there is filing each to its own pile too. But really, over that and behind that, there’s the honest veracity of the work I’ve been describing in the Left posts, waiting patiently for me to completely finish off the disurgent screws, naiis, and staples besides.

It’s seven PM as I type this line and the spill is complete for a cycle, and that amazes me.