Sunday, September 14, 2025, 50.0*, 85% RH, 0637
Being conservative for no apparent reason, the pot provided half a cup of coffee. There was water, there was coffee, there was electricity. No apparent reason. One-by-one the row of lights turned on through the process signaling the pot to stop dripping drops into my cup. Shall we do this again?
Briefly, the Pileated Woodpecker and Blue Jay spoke perhaps calling Soleil to brighten Sunday morning. Sky silver. No clouds. No dew.
Settled at my desk with a full primary red cup of coffee, the three have returned to sleep in the room behind me. The window scene is beginning to look more like the painting of the pond, now lodged behind a chair waiting for a new wall to grace. I tried walking to the shrinking pond, the green pond yesterday while my son cut and shredded brush. Lost my balance a couple of times stepping through the uneven, boots grabbed by uncovered roots. I could picture me falling. I didn’t. Not lulled by the chipper, the paper wasp nest in the brush beside the rock boundary was lively. Perhaps the paper nest hanging above our heads was abandoned.
Morning: a dance, a painting, drops dripping into a cup.
Photo: LJ Austin
