It’s one of those days . . . hot and sticky.

I’m not complaining. We long for days like these all winter . . . which is very long in these parts. And summer is far too fleeting.

But it’s here now, and it’s too hot to wear clothes.

Though, I will have to put something on for a couple of hours when I drive to the village to pick up some groceries. But it won’t be much. And after that, it will be a clothesless weekend for me.

A songbird is singing outside my window, the lake is barely rippling . . .

Summertime and the living is easy . . .

Freeze frame . . . If only I could (selfishly) stop the Earth from spinning today . . .

Sigh . . . I really must look into moving to California because I want this sort of weather all year.

And I would fit in with the Beverly Hills crowd, don’t you think? (Well, maybe not economically speaking, but I’ve got the bubbly ‘tude, yes?) But is Beverly Hills ready for a naked Shaolin priestess . . . lol . . . Hey, they’ve seen it all down there . . .

Back to reality: This is prime naturism time here, when nudism is almost a necessity. During the next six weeks or so, I will get a chance to reunite with my naturism group for the summer barbecue, go to clothing-optional section of Oka Beach once or twice, and do lots of skinnydipping in the lake outside my window. Oh, yes, and lounge about on the deck, of course, in  the company of my sweetheart.

And the aforementioned activities wouldn’t cost anywhere near the price of lunch in the Beverly Hills Hotel (if I weren’t boycotting it, of course).

Indeed, there is no place like home at this time of the year.

I wish you all a carefree weekend — either clothed or not clothed.


— Jillian