tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86911467428411402232011-04-21T18:05:38.818-07:00Kate Katsarkahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08119744760929985674noreply@blogger.comBlogger21100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8691146742841140223.post-33946482975376278462008-07-28T06:28:00.000-07:002008-07-28T06:43:21.860-07:00

July is the least exciting of months. When I lived in the eastern part of North Carolina, I hated it. It was unbearably hot, muggy and humid, and I spent almost all of it hybernating in order to be in an air-conditioned room. In the mountains, where I live now, it is lovely: cool, pleasant, with birdsong as an accompaniment to my days. This month has been a kind of passage--from the excitement of

Kate Katsarkahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08119744760929985674noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8691146742841140223.post-12627475213806980902008-07-21T12:38:00.000-07:002008-07-21T12:50:36.052-07:00

I have been avoiding blogging for quite some time now, but as in all things, the fullness of time arrived, and this is it.It is July but thoroughly bearable up here on the mountains of North Carolina; I live on top of a hill with open vistas before me--the mountains of Tennessee clear in the north, Grandfather in the south. Today the horizon is almost hidden by haze. Just three weeks ago I was

Kate Katsarkahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08119744760929985674noreply@blogger.com