Had a good day in the yard yesterday, despite the heat. It was actually invigorating if you count being drenched in sweat invigorating. But I had chores to do, and I wanted to do them, so I did.

Memory is a funny thing. I know, for instance, there is only one natural lake in Texas. Somehow, I came to believe that was Inks Lake.

The birds are fed. The cats are fed. Wordle is in the books. My day begins. I’m thinking about my garden again and the satisfaction it offers.

Swallows. I have a pair trying to nest on the wall over the entrance to the dog run. Which means, if they’re successful, that when someone comes to my front door, they’d have to navigate a pile of bird dung. Not in the plan.

We had a high of 94 yesterday in our little town. Today it is expected to hit 97. But it’s cool this morning, and there are a few clouds about. So, it’s a nice walk around the trees to look at the plants.

It’s an air-is-out-of-the-balloon day. The grandson is gone, back to his mom and dad, and the emptiness is shrinking in around me. That’s okay, however, it happens every time the kids come then go.

I thought I had fallen out of love with camping. Bugs, weather, and discomfort having done me in. But when I stepped out of my tent this past Saturday morning, I realized we were still a couple.

Another cool, blessed morning. This time the birds were waiting for me to bring out the feeder. A little Carolina Chickadee and a Titmouse were in the trees.

We got an inch of rain last night, my hand is healing nicely, and I’m back in the wordy saddle. It feels as though I got a good night’s sleep. Lots of dreams. I mean seriously, lots of them and really detailed, too, but none worth repeating.

Life at the bird feeder is heating up. Word is out, and creatures big and small are showing up.

It’s cool this morning. It feels like spring. The air is fresh and clear. There’s still a hint of moisture from the days of rain. There’s a breeze, too. New green sprouts cover almost everything in the garden.

I have birds. Little ones. At the feeder. Taking a bite. Flying off to eat. Black-crested Titmouse. Carolina Wren. Female goldfinch. Cardinals.

I’m in the country in a very fine house and it’s raining to beat the band. Seriously, the heavens have opened up and are trying to dump all the water in the world right on top of us.

Bought a new bird feeder. It’s designed to defeat house sparrows and squirrels. The food in the new feeder sits in a tube surrounded by wire mesh that slides down when something heavy hangs on it.

No sooner did I speak of it than it happened. The rock rose bloomed. Once upon a time it was ensconced beneath a young crape myrtle growing in a tiny little garden spot by the front porch.

I’m a sucker for blooms. Big, small, in between. It makes no difference. I love flowers.

Life. A tenacious beast. Last week I watched a turtle lay eggs in a field along a fairway on a golf course. She was pretty exposed, but there was a fence so I’m guessing it would have been hard to really disturb her.

Good morning from the dark side of dawn. I’ve missed two days.

It happened again. Dire warnings. Flashes in the sky. No rain. Not even thunder. There’s drizzle this morning. That’s good. But no drenching downpour. That’s good, too, actually.

I think we’re in the year of the near miss storm. My phone was alive with alerts yesterday. The sky was alive with lightning and thunder. We heard the booms; we heard the bangs.