Wilted

A very hot day.
I spent time outside, before the sun hit me, doing a dead-dog check of the place: I picked up fallen fruit, swept the driveway and sidewalk of the walnut mess the squirrels make, and watered a few desperate plants.
Dead-dog check, you ask? That’s what Eric called it when he’d stop by the Standard Plaza downtown, where he was the gardener while taking classes years ago to get his teaching credentials. He figured no matter how the place looked, no matter all the planting and pruning, if there was a mess, like a dead dog under a bush, it would all be ruined. 
Nils drove his motorcycle here at 7am, left it undercover in the carport, and rode with Eric, in a car, to the car museum near Salem.
Then I got tired of being inside, so sat in the shade with some knitting, listening to The Burgess Boys (I’m re-listening to all of Elizabeth Strout’s books), kept a wet cloth around my neck, and really enjoyed myself. Two hours in the high 90’s; it can be done with care and a lot of water.