Sunday, April 19, 2026, 42.4* F, 83% RH, 0635
I close the door as the last foot falls on the deck. In the pond, a wake. Without glasses or camera that’s all I can see. From the size of the wake, it’s created by beaver. Nothing drags itself onto land, no head rises above the water. Rooster crows. Sky gray. Everything wet, dripping with last night's rain. Landscape a quilt of spread-out chips an opening of trees, a view. Grass shades of olive, shades of brown, shades of a child’s drawing.
What is seen depends on the viewer.
Photo: LJ Austin
