summer

It's hot, but it doesn't feel as brutal as it did over the weekend. Maybe that's just the mind getting used to the temperature. It hasn't rained here in more than a month. Everything's dry and brittle. On the 4th, someone accidentally lit up a field across the road from my mother's neighborhood. There's a big black patch about the size of a home lot, with only the green cactus and withered cedar scrub poking up out of the soot. My mother said the holiday was noisy with the sound of sirens.

I want to be out doing something, anything. I feel this queer restlessness.

Last night I made a compote of strawberries, blueberries and cherries. I pitted glossy black cherries under my fingers were stained. Their fruit flesh is so sinister and strange looking, like dark hearts. It was so worth it to make a little sandwich of angel food cake slices and whipped cream.

Inspired by Melynda's success, I've stopped drinking soda. It's been less difficult than I imagined. I just drink a little more coffee in the morning, and water all day. Yesterday I resisted the urge to buy chips in the store. Cutting out the junk food will be harder, I'm sure. But I should. Alas. I will ration and hoard my last chocolate bars.