Oh to live in the country. To sit and be quiet beneath the largest oak or pecan tree on the land. So quiet, so still. To ponder on the nature of existence and all those thoughts that so often spin through the mind, so often ignored. To sit and just be. To quiet the mind and soak in the birds and their songs, the soft touch of grass and the smells, oh such smells. Of this I dream.

A cooler wind blew in this morning, or maybe late last night. The sky a milder, gentler mistress, not so quick to kill. And yet a loathing, sinking feeling settles in. Maybe it can be attributed to something I ate, or stress, or the like, but sometimes I just get the feeling that I am standing at the edge of a precipice with no where to go but down. But at least the heat broke. The afore mentioned white-hot rivers of mercury have settled back to their benign winter forms. This too shall pass.