This is just perfect. I can't remember the last time I've been in a place so removed that such a variety of insects and random creatures are everywhere (and no, we're not talking roaches in trash in the East Village people). It's just before 11:30 and the only sound I hear is a faint basketball and some bugs. Everything is very still and quiet.
Last night we had steaks and corn on the grill. A nice zucchini salad, with only fresh lemon juice. We sat and chatted. There was red wine. There might have been some Paul Simon and a little Bruce Springsten. And there was lots of Off to be sprayed.
Later, weather-permitting, we'll hit the beach. For now, I'm sitting here in my bathing suit in the lawn chair. Nowhere I've gotta be. I'm the only one at the house (well, the only one showing signs of life at the moment, that is). I've started Stephen King's "On Writing". Been looking forward to checking out that one. Being out here makes me not want to go back.
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T