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This town, these hills, this climate–it’s all drying up. A walk through Elysian Park raises clouds of dust, and Griffith Park is a lunar landscape a year after the big fire. Only our cosmic friend Jimson Weed seems to be implacably flourishing.

jimson.jpgThe town to which we flee on Sunday, Dublin and points north, is experiencing torrential rain like no one can remember. And that’s saying a lot. As the late great Chris Gaffney said to Rick Shea as they flew over the Emerald Isle, “I think they over-water.”

We’ve promised our kind host and booker Andy Peters that we’d pack sunshine into our baggage. We’ll see. For secretly we crave water from the skies, cool mid days, wet winds. The Hawks Euro mini tour will take us to the Mourne Mountains of Northern Ireland, to Belfast, and to Down On The Farm festival in the woods of Norway. Too brief, but we’ll take it. We’ve got our Euros and Sterling, forgot to get Kroners. See you there.

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