Tuesday, November 3, 2026, 47.8* F, 85% RH, 30.29 BP, 0630
Like a lost child a Blue Jay calls. No answer. Stream a clear mirror reflecting branches, reflecting overcast sky. Fine, tiny rain drops darken wooden deck. Black cart parked outside gate waits for a delivery we hope isn’t late. Yesterday I looked for pictures to take, uprooted brown feet of false fringed buckwheat climbing over boulders to higher ground, climbing toward the fenced-in-land where the three watched through chain links. Found no flowers blossoming, found leaves not on the ground. Pulled one tiny oak tree with tiny red leaves, laid it on a rock. Would it have survived in a pot?
We grow where planted until someone decides that’s not where we should be.
Photo: LJ Austin
