Here's a picture of Mt. Baker from the back yard atop a little ladder as I was putting up a place for the clematis to reach toward the sun. The mountain is about fifty miles away, and the ridge is about fifteen. There's a sign company behind my house, and that's alright by me. It used to be that their outside intercom would start paging just after eight, but now I'm up at six when the rooster crows (and to let him and the two hens out). My neighbor was saying it how the crowing reminded him of visiting places like Mexico. So we decided that here in Bellingham you live the same sensation and is costs much less. And the water's much better.
But today I learned that two blueberries does not a smoothie make. So I added an aging kiwi and banana, and a bruised apple. And some yogurt and ice and it was the perfect thing for a hot day. One week of the temperatures in the high eighties is enough for me. So I donned a Hawaiian shirt of my fathers that might be older than I am. How some worldly things are so fleeting in life while others seem to hang around.
Fortunately there was the everpresent relief of the ten knot breeze off the bay. The older homes (and maybe the newer ones, but I don't know) seem to pull the breeze through nicely and the sight of curtains blowing in the breeze is refreshing. Since air conditioning is unnecessary here, it is wonderful to hear the stillness and quiet of the night with windows open and the whistle of the distant twelve-ten southbound BNSF.