Friday, October 3, 2025, 40*, 86% RH, 0817
I wonder if heated keyboards are a thing, the temp has only risen one degree in two hours. Heavy dew clings black dirt to dog feet walking into the house clumping on the rug, the floor, a morning walk of art. No spider strings. No birds sing. At six, a flock of geese unseen, honking.
The vastness of the deck returns as things find their winter hiding places. I stand at the railing, lost in the light, the winding stream. Zayne spies a buck in the last area Chris cleared of brush ignores “leave,” barks, jumps; the buck vanishes into the trees. Zayne continues his vigil.
Response is kindled by our line of vision.
Photo: LJ Austin
