A cool breeze is blowing in from the north, and gentle rain turned gold by the evening sun falls on parched grass, hot concrete and spent brass. The smell of rain in a Texan August. Beautiful and rare.
Poetry aside, my eldest boy called this morning to say he'd been promoted to Specialist ahead of schedule. Well done, kid, keep it up. He's currently attached to the 2nd Armored Division and "on mission," which means he has to sit in a comms truck on weekends instead of enjoying Korean nightlife. His Platoon Sergeant's clearly wise.
In other news, Blue Eschaton's slowing down a bit and takes life philosophically, unless steaks or fried pies are on the table. Then everything's different.
Mind how you go,
LSP
