Today tastes like sand, paper, and wind. I meant to post this1 last week, in celebration of the glory of the Oak King (and the birth of the Holly King) but never got around to it because of this miserable summer cold.
Being sick in summer is worse than winter. Hot tea feels good and tastes good in the winter. It's dark late and early, the wind blows, it's dry and brown. There's nothing going on outside of the manufactured festivities. There's no reason to leave your bed.
In the summer--especially now and here--it's light early and late. The sun rises at 4:15 at this time of year. The sun sets around 8:00. It's hot outside, but for those of us who like it hot, that's dandy. However, you can't play Nekkid Hose Monster when you have a cold--the flux of heat and chill isn't good for you. Nor do you really have the energy to run. But of course, you can't sleep--it's hot and light.
Summer colds stink.
(1) Midsummer’s Eve
June 20 rolled around again, and my loony roomie was making plans. “The full moon falls on that night,” she chirped brightly. “We should hold a drum circle, scry our futures in a glass of wine, dance naked with the fairies!”
“Oh, I can tell you our futures,” I said. “Arrested for disturbing the peace.”