Some days, the time stretches out, deceptively elastic. The slow heat invites you to dawdle, to sit, to muse, or just to loaf. And days go by in a hazy fog of slow moving time. What did I do today? Or yesterday? Not much. A book read, a walk before the humidity gets unbearable, a knitted scarf begun lethargically, a few dishes washed while others pile up. Then a nap. It’s full-on summer vacation. And out at sea men in tugboats scour up sand just as time secretly scours the days.