I imagine there’s a good explanation for why all the air is rushing through Texas in such a hurry. But I wish it would stop, or at least slow down. You know. Stick around a while. Visit. But nope. Here it comes, there it goes, and the wind just blows and blows. There’s more coming today and tomorrow and the day after that, and the temperatures are heading toward 104, which sure seems hot.

I think this is how the Hill Country becomes something similar to the area around Uvalde and environs. Dry. Bare. Spare. Makes sense. The dry line has moved two degrees east which means our annual rainfall will drop. I wonder what that will do to all the vineyards popping up. Not much probably. I think most of them buy their grapes from other places. Also, I wonder if the proliferation of vineyards and wine tasting rooms is a bubble of some sort. That’s another thought though.

My most recent thought of a personal nature was a desire to disappear, become anonymous. Unsure where that came from. I think perhaps its simply part of the process one goes through after you lose a mate, and you have to re-invent yourself. Hell of a job. Easy to give up. But you just smooth out the bumps and keep going. Besides, I like company and people, mostly. It’s just sometimes I want to be alone, which, ta-da, I already am. Alone. Reaching through the curtain, to place these words on the table before you, then disappearing back into the ether with my thoughts. So, as Tigger says, TTFN.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale