If I had to guess, I'd say it's August.

I was over at Gunsmith Bob's tonight, watching the Braves prove that they need at least one more good starter. Despite being staked to a three-run lead in the first, the wheels came off JoJo Reyes in the third inning, and the Braves wound up losing 8-7. I left to drive home at quarter after ten, and the thermometer in the Zed Three still read 85 degrees. I'm good and ready for a day with a high in the eighties, thankyouverymuch.

Wending my way through the woods out on the peninsula on the way home, the high beams caught a glint of yellow in the underbrush on the right side of the road. I slowed the car to a crawl and was rewarded with a brief staring contest with a fair-to-middlin' size whitetail buck. Nice antlers. After a couple seconds, he decided that my hrududu was a bit too close and bounded into the woods in two truly amazing leaps.

And now to bed with a book (Our Kind, by Marvin Harris), now that the A/C is catching up after the heat of the day...