Someone nearby was frying onions. Someone else on the other side of the house was baking bread. As the wind shifted and the clouds changed, I got onions....bread.....onions......bread. The cats busily knocked things off of the kitchen windowsill and counter, and it was breezy enough that the mosquitoes didn't bite.
It was a good evening. Now the sun's gone down, and thunderstorms are rolling through, and I'm going to go shut the windows and read The Phantom Tollbooth for the nine-hundredth time. And maybe eat some of the Moo-Lennium Crunch Rachel left behind this past weekend.