Saturday, May 17, 2025, 51.6* Wet
Before the oak canopy is in full leaf, cherry blossoms hold out white petals gathering light fulfilling a promise of spring. A shade darker than pressure treated wood, the deck wears a satin coating of rain. Light grey almost silver hovers behind trees. Mist reaches for everything. Mariah plays gently with trees pretending limbs are ballroom dancers in flounced skirts waltzing to the music of birds. Barometric pressure for now has stopped falling holds steady.
Looking like a scrap of white cloth blown into a tree, at first, I thought it was a spider web, but the silk is too closely woven. Tent caterpillars have hatched. Intent to capture solar warming they raised a tent; in it they created compartments just like a house. Somewhere unseen especially at this distance, there is a way in, a way out. Caterpillars leave to eat, then they come back sated with leaves laying down a pheromone path a marked route to food or places worth exploring.
Every day is a journey, and
the journey itself is home. – Matsuo Bashô
Photo: LJ Austin
