Not quite right

Even the full moon's got a bit of a sunburn. It's all red and raw. 
The sunchair has giving all hope of taking itself back to the shed for the night. It is exhausted from all that waiting in the beating sun, waiting for a human brave enough to recline for a brief moment in the relentless heat, a bewildered human cooking for a minute or two before retreating back to the safety of the shade indoors. 

But I know what felt most out of place. It was an olfactive anomaly. We were driving Mimi to surf school at nine A.M. and something was definitely not quite right. Not just the heat, and the sun, and the blinding light, and all the windows open as we drove through the Irish countryside. 

It was the smell. The smell was... a Spanish holiday smell! The smell was at odds with the location. What I could breathe in was the heavy smell of freshly applied sun lotion. On all occupants in the car. On the stretch of road where the signature fragrance is reassuring turf fire smoke, oozing out of all the chimneys in the damp, cool air. In December, or March, or July, or October.