Look at that. I was out at my father and mother’s place late this afternoon, in the heat and heavy wet air, picking figs. I saw this one on an inside branch, it’s side pierced by a mockingbird. The nectar dripping out wasn’t running like water. It hung there in the air, viscous and sweet and intensely fragrant. This is summer in the Deep South.
Your summer may be “voluptuous”, but the adjective that best fits ours today (and is still printable) is “infernal”, in several senses of the word. 106 today! When I got home from work (biking– yikes), I went up to water the balcony garden knowing the plants must be in dire need, and I also turned the hose on myself, feeling a definite kinship with my heat-wilting tomatoes.