Trekhprudny Lane

Noon, blazing sky, just back from a long hike to the village and back. I summoned the courage to enter one of the bars this morning (they seem to enforce an unwritten men-only rule) and ordered a cafe con leche as if nothing was unusual... certainly not the double stroller parked outside, rocking back and forth like something Dr. Dre would drive, small voices within suggesting, audibly from the street, "Mom? Cookie? Mom?"

And so it goes. Girls are supposed to be napping, but it sounds like a frat party down there, all thumps and howls and egging each other on. I am drinking cava by myself in the cool and complete darkness of a room with all windows tightly shuttered; this always disorients me, this midday night, and when I step out again I stumble, blinking, eyeballs seared by the sudden ferocity of the sun. Not unpleasant.

We have a wasps' nest in one of the copious keyholes of the old barn door (at first, couldn't figure out why we were getting stung daily). Everything else here is perfect peace.