The weather has been beautiful: sunny, cool, dry. Blue skies, singing cicadas. But I seem unable to parse beautiful August weather any more. It makes no impression and leaves no memory. Today however the clouds moved in and the world went faux-autumnal grey; and at once I felt my outlines firming up, as it were, and the world turning rational again.
This evening there was woodsmoke on the air, and then it was perfect.