It's the Fourth of July. I've been sitting quietly since daybreak reading a compendium of old, old tales of the Great Lakes of yesteryear--many written by the region's early people.
I read it many years ago and am revisiting the book, and enjoying it, for in my older years I have more leisure and can dwell more slowly in the details.
I hate to say this, but I'm hoping not to be disturbed by invitations I cannot refuse. It's much too hot to be outside, and it is lovely to be dawdling in the quiet, cool inside... with my dog who seems to feel the same.
