The fog is thick again this morning, but supposedly, supposedly, the sun will shine today. Intuitively this feels very unlikely, given our long acquaintance with dankness and the actual current existence of dankness, but I will be glad to be mistaken.

The endless rain has affected many things, including T's ability to install the air conditioner . . . so if the weather does in fact become hot and sunny, this house will be miserably stuffy. But verifying the existence of sunlight might be enough of a solace.

T and I will both be back in the saddle today. He'll be heading out to a new construction site, and I'll be doing the final cleanup on a novel, getting the files ready for proof stage. In the interstices I'll go to the grocery store, maybe cut some grass, conceivably hang clothes on the line, endure my exercise regimen. July stretches before me like a hay field, lovely but businesslike: mow, rake, bale; mow, rake, bale. I'm ready to get to work.