It's hot, hot for spring. 28 degrees at 9am. We go for a walk, we see a number of our neighbours also going for an early walk. We chat in the street, everyone in shorts and short sleeves covered in a thin film of sweat, even this early. It is not the first hot day.
Then we come home and disappear in doors. It is languorous, with the urge to call out "Stella," intermittently, but we don't, of course. (I love that image)
We have the fan whirring, fresh air blows across us. The whir of the fan is the sound track for the day.
The dogs are panting. The dogs are stretched out across the carpet.
It is the perfect weather not to do nothing at all. Yes, nothing. I catch up on some of my YouTuber car guys. (No more American politics)
Sam falls asleep on the other couch, legs akimbo.
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