fee. fi. fum. foom. the thunder rocks the humid room. the dogs shudder and pant and the cat is nowhere to be seen. all fans whirring against the everfucking humidity. every night it pours and every day the lake rises another inch and every afternoon from 2:15 to 2:30 the sun peers bleakly through the mist and dries the deck enough for it to soak up more water when it starts to pour again.
1:15 a.m. and sipping at a guinness and waiting for h.c.foskett to arrive off the maccavity highway from boston. heat lightning over split rock mountain to the west, the weatherman says tomorrow is dry and sunny and 75, but he's funded by the northern new england bureau of tourism and everybody knows they killed kennedy.
latest thanks: to andy mccabe of vergennes wine & beverage, for the guinness and the fence on the property joke.
the sundial was 'notes from the lakehouse' during the lakehouse years.
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