Write four lines of prose about: the drought.
I'm in Penticton for the weekend with my family, as Kat is, at long last, taking a pre-natal yoga teacher training course. She's been wanting to do this for years but the timing, cost, location, or considerations for Max had not been in her favor.
It's a three day intensive course, which began with a two hour introduction tonight. We're staying at her aunt and uncle's place in Penticton, which is vastly better than having to drive back and forth each day. We'll be back in Osoyoos Sunday evening; until then I'll be updating on borrowed Wi-Fi.
I'm happy to say that I was able to get Max down to sleep for the night while Kat was at her course and there was very minimal extra fuss involved. That's the first time that no nursing was really involved in the process (Kat nursed him before she left, but that was at 7 and he didn't get to sleep until around 8:30).
I'd say so far so good at this point.
I watch dust devils dance in the front yard as droplets of sweat slide down my forehead and leap off the tip of my nose. Suicidal maniacs... I envy your escape from this place.
Leaves as brittle as the Dead Sea Scrolls are floating around and around as those devils in the brown grass slowly but surely tear them into a million miniscule pieces, with not a cloud in the sky.
Maybe the rains will return tomorrow.