It's June 29th. The rest of the country's sweltering, but we're still wearing sweaters. It's okay. I mean when it rained the other night, everyone complained, but I liked it because nothing on earth smell's better than the summer rain.
And yet. I'm still askin: Summer, where are you?
Regardless, Miss Bousquet and I drove out along the gorge last night to see My Morning Jacket at Edgefield. A live outdoor performance surrounded by grapevines and herb gardens—a very summer thing to do. Jim James' voice washed through the beer garden. We sat at a picnic and drank ale.
I'm a simple person and so maybe my favorite part of the whole night was just the way the light looked cutting through the canopy.