July 1, 2025, Tuesday, 62.2*, 0653
Fog silvers the air softening dark green leaves not disappearing gray trunks that hold them. It is the beginning of July, not the half-way through the year mark. This day marks the anniversary of a friend, marks someone’s birthday, marks someone’s first day on the job. It is a day of firsts, a day of memories, as all days are.
An Ovenbird and a Black-throated Green Warbler, barely audible were out-voiced by the call of a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, to me the call was more animal, perhaps a cat whose tail was stepped on.
Considering the silk hanging from lamp arms, the silk draping the owl’s face, the silk lacing the umbrella like something a debutante would twirl when I was a girl, there must be more than one rogue spider. I don’t mind the tangle of silk along the top of the fence or that rogue spiders hide inside the solar clips. I don’t want to feel like I’m in a haunted house or just woke to the aftermath of a New Year’s Eve party.
Yesterday, crows, a plethora crouching on dead trees in the pond. What so amused them? I shall never know nor what wound them up and flew them.
Mysteries are woven throughout the day, throughout the night.
Photo: LJ Austin
