Friday, September 18, 2026, 60.2* F, 98% RH, 30.05 BP, 0648
No orange on the horizon. No sun. Clouds gray portend foul weather; forecast disagrees. No birds. Merlin and I listened. Last night rain drowned leaves the stream gathered or washed them further downstream. Crickets. A breeze ruffles leaves. Zsolt’s ears assume their quizzical pose. Yesterday, for several minutes, a Blue Jay sat on the tractor squawking, Zayne barked in response while atop the woodpile the red squirrel posed still as stone.
Perhaps dogs understand the language of birds.
Photo: LJ Austin
