Three words: Heirloom Dishwashing Liquid. This fine specimen of liquified soap, with which one might cleanse the scum and villainy off of one's dishes – indeed, both fine china AND...
By this time in the summer, we are usually well into a drought. We wake up to a slightly humid 75-80 degrees, which feels nice (relatively speaking) as we take out the trash, water the garden, walk out to the car to head to work. Then, the heat rapidly builds until by midafternoon we are coasting along between 100 and 110 degrees, and people and plants begin to wilt and wither.
The skies in August lie flat and washed out above us, barely a hint of blue underneath the intense glare. Sometimes a stray cloud struggles by.
Rain is rare. Mostly the sky remains pale and flat.
That is why I take photos on mornings like this. Today, deep blue-gray clouds piled up on the horizon, hinting at a possibility of precipitation. Most likely it won’t happen, but all the same I eagerly anticipate the smell of ozone in the air, a rumble of thunder, a few cold drops of rain. And, if we are indeed lucky, I am willing to pay a penance of steam, swirling and hanging, smothering, rising around us from the streets and concrete when it’s over.