T.

A deep silence has overtaken me, most words typed onto this space appear to be precious or ridiculously self-indulgent.

Mid-summer melancholy.

Could just be the heads-down-get-the-job-done pace at work, where our only retail show of the year starts in two weeks. (Egads. Did I really just write that?) We're squeezing-in a few lingering June orders, while all of July has been filed away until August. Trying not to let these glorious July mornings, evenings go unnoticed. The scented air intoxicates — this morning a balmy breeze wafted through my upstairs windows and it smelled green & yellow. Do scents have colors?

My kiwi and grape vines  — an unlikely pairing — are doing their annual twining-duet, and I've suggested to them (with the help of cording and some twisted wire) that they extend across my patio from their trellis to the falling-down garage, and they argue mightily against my urgings. One kiwi tendril actually turned back after being twisted to the cord: outright refusal to follow the desires of the gardener!

We've had quiet words, and although there is obviously a reluctance afoot (a-vine?), finally they've begun their airborne trek, their loops and twirls around the two cords strung from east to west.

And once again, from my balcony, my front (and only) row seat of Big Sky Sunset.

Pass the popcorn.