Every year, somehow, I forget just how hot it gets here in the summer. 95 degrees with a heat index of around 100 is not a pleasant surprise. I've resigned myself to being slightly damp with sweat, consistently, for the next three months (at least). The things I remember pleasantly about summer: very short shorts, crisp, colorful salads, iced tea. All of these things, however, are best enjoyed indoors, in front of an oscillating fan, lest ye melt into a puddle of smelly goo. Photos above are from last year, as I'm suffering a very terrible, bratty kind of denial (and/or heat stroke) this week. The melted crayons and scorched flower sum up my feelings on North Carolina summer better than I could ever put to words.
But Michelle, you say, aren't you celebrating the Wheel of the Year like a good little pagan? Shouldn't you be waxing poetic on Litha and the Green Man and the vitality, glory, and bounty of summer? Yes, all that. Look at that picture of that watermelon salad.
But Michelle, you say, aren't you celebrating the Wheel of the Year like a good little pagan? Shouldn't you be waxing poetic on Litha and the Green Man and the vitality, glory, and bounty of summer? Yes, all that. Look at that picture of that watermelon salad.
