The pavement is all gritty with crushed, dead oak blossoms. It sets my teeth on edge to walk on it, and I'm sure I'm tracking the stuff into the house despite wiping my feet. It's all over the doormat, too, and won't sweep away. Sneezes galore.
RAWR! Well, it probably wouldn't make that sound underwater, but it looks like that sound.
Topping eighty degrees by Sunday. Oh, dear.
Oh, and that guy Brad who used to have something to do with the LJ popped in to wish us a happy collective birthday. Happy Collective Birthday, us.