For many years, when people spoke of the 'dog days' of August, I envisioned blue-tick hounds, lolling on their bellies in front of dusty general stores, panting through sweat-quilt heat and the lonesome whine of a harmonica. How disappointed I was to learn that the phrase was really about Sirius, the dog star, brightest light currently in our Northern sky. Although she would bristle at being compared with a dog, the heat has been hard on our kitty Duchess, and lately she is often seen belly-down on the cool hardwood floor, squarely in front of the portable fan, and regally confident that her subjects will see her and step around her. She also lies in front of our bedroom window, meditating on the motions of alley grass, and drowsing in feline-dom, one paw lazing twitching at her fantasy mouse.
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In June, mornings are eager to arrive and be greeted with breakfast. There is a ritual here, how the eggs curve perfectly in the palm of the hand, the careful cracking of the pristine white shell--the slide of yet another miniature golden sun into the bowl. I pull out the wire whisk and it briskly twirls, celebrating the many possibilities ahead.
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I was thinking the other day about how the old explorers of land and sea would keep journals about their adventures. They would describe the day’s happenings and sketch what they saw. I think this blog will be like that. It will be a place to marvel at the ordinary, traveling great stretches in the middle of taking a pause.