Fear less, hope more;
eat less; chew more;
whine less, breathe more;
talk less, say more;
Love more and all
good things will be yours.
The sky's blue has an ochre-umber tint.
The Terral has been blowing for almost enough days to provide mitigation in a murder defence. A hot wind out of the mountains into their lee, it's a foehn. The smashed crockery and crashed cars can be added to the foehn bill when it blows in the summer. The brownish tint in the blue is dust held in suspension in the air. If it were by some chance to rain, your car would be as dirty as a Paris-Dakar vehicle. I do not fear the Terral, I welcome it. We hope for truth from shortened tempers, we northern souls.
In this heat, you eat less. Chew your food for longer out of torpor. We talk less and say much more into the whorls of a loved one's ear. Many things are too much trouble. Making love is a slow, langorous pleasure or it isn't made at all. Yet it's worth it for all the good things it will bring.