Isn’t “quotidian” a fine word? It somehow feels like the dog days of August, with a bit of spin.
I have been laid up (or out) with a twisted back for a couple of weeks. Just as I thought I was recovering, I managed to step off the edge of a sidewalk and twist it again. So I’ve had lots of quotidian.
From my computer, I get to see the front room with its window to the porch and beyond.
The red and black piece hanging to the left is my last textile art for Edge, the Kansas Art Quilters exhibiting group. And front-right is a big roll of canvas, last attacked by watercolor in 2007. I keep thinking I’ll do something with it, like cut it up.
Being August, the world outside is a heavy, sultry green. One doesn’t normally think of green as “sultry” but the smidgen of humidity and the dense presence of foliage seems to reek of, well, you know — sultriness.
From our front porch (above) you can look down on the flower bed (below), the only sunny spot on the property, where an appropriate canna lily blazes.
Just down the street, in the industrial district near the Yale Union Laundry Building, the goats continue to enjoy the fruits of the city. They meander, browsing, through the grass, and then get out of the sun, hunkering down under their platform.