Almost The End Of August

Soon the woods will smell of burning twigs, and the ashes of a pine tree that was borne when Abraham Lincoln was president.

But in the meantime it's still warm in the afternoon, and the goldenrod wavers softly.

It reminds me of a day at Rye Playland near the end of the twentieth century, when we spent the day on the beach and the evening in the amusement park. I told Joy that if I took her there, two things would happen. First I would win her a tacky prize in the arcade. And second she would get groped in the tunnel of love. I made good on both promises.

Sorry Joy, but it's one of my favorite memories!