And how does the sun even fit in the sky?

[sovay]

City-walking with derspatchel did not pan out since I am still limping like an elegiac couplet, but we did get dinner together at Bronwyn in Union Square, where they serve chilled borscht with sour cream and counterintuitive but successful cubes of watermelon, and walk (slowly) back under an apocalyptic sky of thunderheads at sunset, complete with cloud-to-cloud lightning and the kind of livid glare usually seen only in nineteenth-century paintings of the wrath of God. I am incredibly disappointed at the subsequent lack of hurled thunderbolts. If nothing else, it would have helped with the humidity.

Comments

[sovay]

Like an elegiac couplet is a way that only you could limp!

I think I stole it from Ovid!

I hope soon you'll be galloping anapestically once again.

That is a wonderful well-wish. Thank you!

(Glad you got to share a good meal, though--and we had burnished gold pre-storm clouds)

I don't understand the weather! Coming home from the Aquarium with gaudior tonight, we saw these huge, sudden gusts of wind buffeting through Congress Street, the trees flattening like there was a hurricane coming on and pedestrians covering their heads against twisting gales of leaves. The sky was greyer, but the light under the clouds was yellowish and lowering. We expected the sky to break open at any moment. And then nothing. No storm, no rain. Who do we need to propitiate?