Friday was a long drive, a lightning-speed chicken fry, and a picnic on the lawn at Britt, watching Pink Martini. I had never heard even one Pink Martini song before. ("Not even Hey, Eugene?" Nope.) I intend to hear lots more, now. No perfume Friday.
Saturday. Saturday. Saturday? Oh, yes! The park. Sandwiches and books and staring blankly at the leaves overhead, discussing whether they're oak or maple. Cello Man. Going home and prowling through what's bloomed lately, including a quartered old-fashioned spicy-fragrant pink rose that I have no memory of ever planting. No perfume Saturday.
Sunday? Breakfast. More books. Possibly puttering with the roses. And Parfumerie Generale Aomassai, which again is surprisingly un-sticky and perfect for hot weather. And movies later.
I like summer.
That is all.
Image: By Luc Viatour. Wikimedia Commons. Luc Viatour's website is here.
No comments:
Post a Comment