The sun begins to go...

Outside my sunroom the sky is cotton-gray with fog; the lemon tree drips with fat, unjuicy lemons regardless, and wind stirs the flowering shrubs in the next yard over. Doubtless somewhere, in a sunlit forest, lovers are capering, confused and stirred by the actions of faery pranksters. Not in San Francisco: here we got fog and summer chill. Regardless: happy Solstice, all.

Intervention

Here's hoping, anyway: on Tuesday next the nice Hand Doctor is going to excise the cyst from my wrist. From what he says, recovery is likely to be less painful, overall, than dealing with the cyst in its native state, and frankly, in its native state the damned thing is begining to affect my handwriting, typing, and driving, which would be interfering with my work time just when I get the kids out of my hair off to their various activities. So, sooner rather than later, and done.

Remind me: no alcohol the night before.