Day wanes to hazy evening and night settles, warm and slightly muggy. I see time pass, but summer seems to drag on endlessly. Since last night, I have several times caught a sharp fragrance that is much like spurge laurel, but that plant only scents the air for a few days in spring, so I have no idea where this smell originates. It might be another of those phantom odors I experience now and then. Ah, the old imaginary brain tumor acting up again. Whatever the source, the scent is tantalizing and fresh, evoking images of exotic gardens and distant lands. Maybe my brain is merely trying to keep itself entertained, and distract itself from these dog days of the dying season.
I opened the newspaper today, after avoiding news for a couple of days. Now I need to bathe. I hope the bile and vitriol wash off.