The air is thick, dripping with humidity. The morning is dark, cloudy, but the sun is there behind the clouds, waiting a turn. It is already 81°. It is a day to sit, maybe watch a movie, read for a bit and take an afternoon nap. The dogs are exhausted from doing nothing. They are sleeping soundly.

I haven’t any lists. The week is quiet. I didn’t even have any uke events. Our uke director is ill so everything was cancelled. I haven’t gotten dressed in outside clothes all week. I am enjoying idleness. I have become adept at guiltless lethargy.

My muse is taking a hiatus. Nothing much is happening. I find myself talking out loud to the dogs more, reflecting about what I’ve read or what I’ve seen on TV. They don’t even pretend to listen unless I say treat. But despite the inactivity, I haven’t yet reached ennui. I have a jigsaw puzzle started, a book I’m reading and old movies to watch. I’m watching World War II movies and 50’s science fiction.

I watch videos of Ghana, of walks through streets and markets. It is as if I am there. I remember the mornings. They are clear with sharp sunlight. On market day, women walk on paths from their villages carrying goods on their heads to sell. The market quickly gets busy, noisy. In one section, tables are in a line, one beside each other. Aunties selling their goods sit behind each table usually under an umbrella or an overhang. The tables are filled with the same offerings, mostly tomatoes, garden eggs, okra, plantain and onions. The oddly shaped tomatoes are usually stacked in a pyramid. The prices hardly differ from table to table. I remember randomly choosing a table. The transaction is always the same. The seller takes the money, puts the tomatoes in a clear plastic bag and adds a few, a dash, a thank you. That bag goes into another bag, a black plastic bag with hand holes. Every transaction is the same. It always ends with the black plastic bag.

The morning is pretty. It is still. The wind blew itself out last night. The rain stayed a while then it too left. The muggy air is gone. The sky is blue, a darkish blue. It is 80° but it is supposed to get hotter. The back of the house, though, is still cool. The sun has yet to make its way around. The dogs, as is their usual habit, are having their morning naps. Both are sleeping on the cool floor.

Tuesday has little to commend it. It is an ordinary day. Seldom does anything happen on a Tuesday. It just sort of moves the week along.

August is the summer’s last hurrah. It is also the hottest month. I always thought the heat happened so we’d look forward to September and cooler weather. It made sliding into the start of school easier. Woolworth’s was our go to back to school store for supplies. We’d walk uptown with my mother. We’d buy a book bag, a pencil case, crayons, just a six pack, note paper and a lunch box. I loved my new pencil case and used to open it just to check out what was inside. Besides the pencils, there was a ruler, a pink eraser, five small colored pencils, a pencil sharpener and the triangle. I never knew what the triangle was used for. I just made straight lines with it. Much later I found out it was a compass which sort of confused me at first. The only compass I knew indicated direction. I used to pack my school bag over and over, sort of test runs before the big day.

Every summer’s day was filled with fun, some with swimming or bike riding or games and crafts at the playground. After a while, though, they all sort of blended together. I didn’t want to admit it, but summer had become a bit boring. Nothing was new.

Time kept moving faster. The end of summer and the start of school was nipping at our heels. We still had new school shoes’ shopping and clothes’ shopping for parts of uniforms we had grown out of or which looked the worst for wear, but those shopping trips weren’t fun. The shoes had to be sturdy. The uniform was boring, just a blue skirt, a white blouse and a cowboy sort of blue tie. They sort of lent themselves to the acknowledgment that summer had already had its heyday.