The air is so humid today that the world looks like a basic tutorial in atmospheric perspective. The other side of the street is unsaturated, the end of the block is washed out, and if you get some place with a straight line of visibility for a mile, the world turns white and airbrushed around the edges. If I was doing it, there’d be a little more blue, but instead this is a dense, fibrous white, like tightly packed bread mold. Summer has evidentally been left out on the counter too long, and it’s time to throw it away before the whole bag starts to turn weird colors. Time to go pick up a loaf of fall, maybe with cinnamon. But no raisins. Not a fan of raisins.

(Having been kidnapped and beaten severely by her wayward metaphor, Ursula eventually escapes and crawls back to the keyboard to finish the post.)

The line-up of rodent tragedies has increased. We now have “Baldy,” who has a botfly on his left shoulder, and surrounding it, a bald swath that tapers into patches and furrows across his back and belly and down his side. I’m not sure if it’s just the side-effect of the botfly, or if there’s something else going on. Possibly Baldy did not have a grandmotherly squirrel (with small, round glasses, one assumes, and perhaps a shawl) to slap his paw away and say “If you don’t stop picking at it, it won’t get better!” and has simply been scratching at it until his hair falls out. We’ll see if he re-furs when the botfly goes away, or if we’ll just have a bald squirrel tearing around the place.

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