Right now it’s 94º, feels like 106º.  Just standing outside feels like a broiler.  Across the road, a crew of Spanish-speaking workmen have been building a house like a construction machine.  From early morning until late afternoon, they’re out there toiling on the roof in this blistering heat.  Yet they seem cheerful, probably glad to have the work.  I don’t know how they do it.  I know I couldn’t, even in my more productive years.  I wonder who will do all the dirty work for us when trump gets done alienating, killing, and deporting Mexicans and South Americans.

Meanwhile, flowers and bugs are soaking up the rays like mad.  Even the wildflowers in the field are finally starting to bloom.