I rode the bicycle to town and took care of the standard Friday errands. Then I passed through the Pork Festival venue around the Courthouse Square. It was a drizzly afternoon, and not much going on. A few young families strolling around with their children, the kidlets getting their faces transformed into monsters by the face-painter. No booths, though, were doing a land-office business. Most of the carnies were sitting in the back of their booths smoking, lending the acrid reek of cigarette smoke to the atmosphere. And it had been such a lovely day, the aroma of rain caressing the parched leaves on the too-long dry trees.
One supposes the vendors were either silently cursing the weather, or optimistically hoping that by eventide the weather might clear and the crowds would grow. Good luck to them, but I'm still praying for rain.