The murky air has thinned. It's cool enough to wear a bathrobe this morning, and even the Aged Poodle managed to sleep for eight hours straight.
Tom came home yesterday evening and brought squid, shrimp, and scallops so I could make ceviche. Earlier that day I'd unearthed a cache of chanterelles in the woods, our first of the season, so we had them too--cooked down with olive oil and minced garlic scapes, then tossed with whole-wheat orzo, fresh peas, and cherry tomatoes and served as a salad. We drank cold rosé and played cribbage and listened to the Red Sox hit home runs against the Yankees, and it was a summer night.
No one was arrested. No helicopters circled the house. No bodies were carried away.