Not for me, not today. I wander aimlessly from room to room, avoiding the dishes in the sink. I listen to the cicadas and drink coffee well past morning. I'm reading 3, no 4, books - switching back and forth between them until they become a jumble of time travelers, monster hunters, women with guns, and magicians. Somehow it might all make sense, or will sometime in the future - I have faith.
A thick layer of clouds hangs overhead, making the light soft, as if filtered through skim milk. I think of the peppers that won't ripen this year and sigh - I'll have no spice to carry me through the winter.
The cats are scattered about the house, warm puddles of nap and fur, sighing as they stretch in their sleep. I whisper to them and receive a whisker twitch or a flick of a tail in response.
I need to get out of the house.