Breakfast this morning was a bowl of plain yoghurt with raspberries from the garden, picked directly into the bowl and warm from the sun. You’ll note a few alpine strawberries in there as well, tiny treats I usually snack on while weeding. A restorative bowl of summer, after an exceedingly noisy night last night. We live on a small lake, in an unincorporated section of the county, surrounded by towns that no longer allow fireworks. But they allow them here. Hoo boy, do they allow them here! About every other dock was putting out a fine display, and the neighbors directly across from us did their usual immense display, going for about 15 minutes, very large skybursts and very loud bangs.
Happy Birthday, America! And happy birthday to Chotzie! (Lisa says I can call him that.)