Captain’s Log: Stardate 220305
Yesterday I woke in the front room of a friend’s travel trailer in Study Butte, with other friends close by. Today, I wake in my own bed.

Captain’s Log: Stardate 220204
I went for a drive down River Road from Lajitas to Closed Canyon yesterday with a friend who has traveled the road before.

I rediscovered something in Santa Elena Canyon of the Big Bend. I am nothing and I like the solitude.

Mountains leave me speechless. I’ve driven in the Alps, the Rockies, The Smokies, and the snowcapped peaks of the San Bernadino mountains. The affect is always the same. There is nothing much to say. I can only look.

Our little home away from home is home. We made it safely to the rendezvous in Study Butte and are now gathered with our friends.

Captain’s Log: Stardate 220228
The first leg of the trip is in the books. It was a short jump from my house to Ozona. This is Texas. It took 2.5 hours.

We’re off again. This time to explore the great unknown. Well, not actually, we’re going to Big Bend, and it’s pretty well explored. But there are some trails we want to walk.

Went to the hills south of town last night to make sure the sun got down okay. It did. No big show.

Went to watch the sky yesterday in the hills just south of town. It was mostly blue with scattered clouds.

We landed last night, and I made my way home. It was nice to sleep in my own bed.

Captain’s Log, Stardate 2022.2.7 Homeward bound. Slowly. Made it to Alamosa. More music.

The winter gardening has commenced. Bags of mulch line the back porch ready to create the world’s largest cat box.

I have four cats. They’re all feral. They’re all sterile. As in fixed, spayed, neutered.

The other evening, on the first day of the most recent cold snap, the day of our wintery mix, I woke, as I often do, in the middle of the night.

I saw a cloud Friday evening. It had the shape of a leaf, standing on end. I could see veins and the midrib.

I walk some ground, look at the trees, and everything seems at ease.

A cruise onto the morning porch reveals a light, soft fog over the pasture, a refreshing chill in the air, and that’s about it.

45. The temperature this morning at my house. This seems right. Winter is coming. To Texas. It feels good.

Our little compound is fairly resistant to deer. It’s a combination of fences, vegetation, and location. We get occasional visitors, but little of our plant life is conducive to nibbling so off they go.

Home, again. Home, again. It feels good.