Sunday, September 13, 2026, 51.2* F, 89% RH, 30.ll BP, 0643
We are well past the season of song, of blossoming. A Blue Jay squawks; a Song Sparrow chips. Asthma meds long ago quelled my singing and sometimes now my speaking. No traffic hums. Sky mottled with pink. Sun rises too far East to capture from where I can stand. Leaves prepare to let go, to fall, to dance on a breeze, to gather or scatter. Yesterday a kerfuffle in an oak tree beside the wood pile. I could not determine the source, thought it might be a squirrel as leaves shook and acorns dinged a split log like a dull bell. Almost put my hand on a long legs as I reached for the ramp rail, some will live for three years. In the cool of evening on deck, Zsolt stood up as a long legs crawled near him.
An invisible design arranges changes.
Photo: LJ Austin
