A thin haze characteristic of summer now blurs distance by day, and by night diminishes the stars. The visible world thus reflects the torpor of thought induced by heat, and I drift again into that state of languor which, though unwilled, is nevertheless alluring -- despite my knowledge that the promised pleasure of its indulgence will inevitably bring regret, and a growing sense of dissatisfaction. Look! Already it induces this flurry of abstraction, as vague as the blurred horizon, as pointless as the hazed stars! I am unfocused, and even the colors in my imagination run together so that no distinct thing can be discerned. Flowers turn to steam, paths to dark water, fields to writhing wind, and all the insubstantial, fluid world whirls away with a ghostly shimmer, as though a mirage had been dispersed to reveal featureless sand. Another day of heat looms.