Sunday, March 1, 2026, 26.5% F, 82% RH, 0637
Thin line of orange rims horizon, pavement visible in the drive, boards of deck of ramp free of winter coatings. Without glue, frost adheres to windshields, ball inside wind chime; not trees not house windows. A crow too far away to see sends its voice to me. Clouds that last night played hide and seek with Luna swirl behind trees. On what course are birds migrating?
They depend on inner knowing.
Photo: LJ Austin
