These days the air is so moist it seems to hold itself up, a scaffolding of water droplets. The slow walks I take with Copper give us both time to take in the humidity, he to pull and tug his way through it, me to wander through it as if in a dream.

Humidity is no fun when you have to mow in it, or hoe in it. Or for that matter, when there’s no respite from it. But when you’re strolling through it leisurely it can be good company.

“Home is where the humidity is,” read the T-shirt of a friend I saw last night.

To which I say, you’re darn right it’s home. Humidity: bring it on.