Summer's officially over. And good thing, too, because this was the worst summer of our adult life. Shit went bad, then shit went really bad, then shit went so far south there was simply no ducking the sucking. It was a bag of agony, a dish of anguish, a Huey Lewis song that lasted months. And the blowing's not, we don't think, over yet. Still, here we are, hanging grimly on. And "if there's an answer it's hiding in the hills, like a yeti, in a lean-to, staring lost into an electric bulb."*
*From brother Jeffrey's poem "bowling for salt lick"