Saturday, June 13, 2026, 62.7* F, 88% RH, 0825
Thunder last night 0100 and 0230. Waking thunder, a voice that says I’m here, not one that rattles the house or cowers those sleeping. Just a greeting in passing. I opened my eyes each time. Closed them. Returned to dreams. The three did not speak. Perhaps they opened their eyes. I don’t know.
Day well underway by 0800 we don’t hear many birds: Cedar Waxwing, Eastern Phoebe, Magnolia Warbler, Common Yellowthroat, Red-eyed Vireo, Ovenbird. I leave the door open, coffee dripping into a blue cup in the kitchen. A viburnum blossoms at the edge of the woods. Heavy fog warnings appear in forecasts. Fog at times hoovers over the stream, fills space between leaves, doesn’t obscure anything. I leave the three in their fenced in land, walk in the driveway until I hear Zsolt’s startled bark.
Without furniture to hold it, the whiplash of feet scrabbling toss the width of the rug over itself in waves as Zayne frantically makes the turn just past the hall cabinets into his room. I thought a rug pad would make this improbable.
Fleeing is instinct.
Photo: LJ Austin
