Today was one of those clear, bright June days in New Jersey that go a long way towards making up for the awful mugginess like last week’s. I’ve been to New Orleans, Houston, and Galveston, but the worst humidity I’ve ever experienced was in Philadelphia. My skin crawled with clammy sweat as I gasped for breath, when I stepped outside at 10 o’clock at night. Last week in NJ was almost that bad.
When I stepped outside to walk Toto this morning, the soft, dry air lifted my spirits. Of course I remembered my father reciting James Russell Lowell’s poem “What Is So Rare As A Day in June,” a story I’ve told here before.