It is too damn hot for the ninth of October. The last few days have been in the low eighties here in northwestern France. At first it felt like a sweet extension of the summer but after a week, I’m pretty much over it. Maybe its the hormones or maybe it is a deep sense of the seasonal changes I’ve grown accustomed to living my whole life in Maine. October is for frost, pumpkins, seeing your breath in the morning, the smell of falling leaves and pulling your sweaters out of storage. It is not for sweating through repetitive outfits across the day.

Last year when I was here, it was cooler and a bit more wet than now. I’ve heard this region has had its hottest recorded June, July, August and September. The flowers are blooming, the grass is still growing and the flies continue to buzz. Unfortunately a few are buzzing in my living room because I’ve opened up the all the windows and doors to let some new air in. Lucky for me, I have a electric racket-shaped instrument that I take great pleasure in killing them with.

Sophie has found a new spot to hide under the loveseat in the living room on the cool ceramic tile. We both are thirsty and lack motivation to go out and do the yard work that we had planned to tackle. The Virginia Creeper needs to be cut off of my front hedge and I need to climb the ladder and trim down my taller shrubs and trees. I’m just too hot. I feel like I need to have some cold sweet tea and take to my bed.