Sunday, September 27, 2026, 54.5* F, 87% RH, 30.08 BP, 0828
Rain overnight, drizzle at 0500. Not enough to rouse the stream or sink leaves gathered there, not enough to drill deeper holes between fence and boulders, not enough for leaves to hold. Orange, gold, red, green leaves sing in the breeze. Not one falls. Not one bird, not one car makes a sound. Sky like tea-stained cotton.
Yesterday, flowers – thistle; a large stump, red squirrel’s table, scattered with acorn pieces. A large pinecone sticky with resin on the ground. “Where did you come from?” It did not respond. I brought it inside. No pine grows here.
The mysteries of life are many.
Photo: LJ Austin
