Oh no, not the type that involves powdered eggs and dirt cravings. I mean mossy. Yes, that’s it. I feel mossy. The summer is winding down and I have spent a lot of time soaking up the dampness. And will continue to do so. Three-quarters of the year I am frigid. (Do I have to explain that, too?) Winter. Surely you must understand that. Somehow my work environment is always a balmy 58 degrees year round. Which makes it fairly easy to dress since you only need one wardrobe. Actually I wear more pants in the summer because those black tights and boots just don’t cut it in July with a white blazer. So when I’m a free bird my devices and reading material head outside to soak it all in. And I do. Half of my hair sweats and is stringy, while the other half curls. None of it in a good way. Won’t even explain what happens when I go topless. (Convertible, silly). It’s the price I pay to be an orchid. I do have a plan for the last few weeks of this lush season. Nothing. That’s the plan. I want to look at the clouds. Do you think they stare at us and comment on our shape? (I am a deep thinker). I want to study spiders. They are quite amazing and can spin seven different kinds of silk and have a nozzle and spigot. (Didn’t say I was going to quit reading.) Some silk is sticky to catch lazy bugs. Some tough and flexible to catch flying bugs. And sometimes they just want to dangle. I want to end the summer on a dangling thread. Ain’t no laws when you’re drinking Claws. Just want to sit and grow moss. Don’t have to bother watering flowers anymore since they are getting leggy and boring me. My beefsteak tomatoes look like cranberries so will leave my eating to the professionals. My dog has also grown moss or maybe just swam too much in the green pool. Over it. Please cancel my subscription to your issues. I am dangling.