It’s a lovely day in the neighborhood. We have clouds, which means the morning sun can give us a show, and it did so. I spooked a small herd of deer when I walked out my gate to get a better look. They were grazing in the park pasture. They used to have horses there, but they’re gone. They left a while back. I never followed up to ask why. I guess I figured it was none of my business. But I miss them.

The morning air was warmer than I’d like. I wish I was at a higher altitude. The late days of no rain are doing what I imagined they’d do. The ground is getting hot. The grasses are drying out and we’re getting a late summer burst of triple digit days, which means hot mornings or at least warm. At least the mowing is done for a while, although the back lots look like they could use a trim before winter comes again. It will be hot dusty work.

That’s okay. I’m good with hot and dusty. There’s a grim satisfaction to working up a sweat while you work. There’s also a satisfaction to knowing you only have to do it if you want to do it. I look around and there’s really no call for my aging body to be beating itself against the whims of nature just to get a job done. So, I sit inside and read a book and think about what’s been and what might be and where I might fit in, and everything feels pretty good. And it’s no skin off anyone’s nose if the back lots aren’t mowed.