The rain came. The heat departed. Nice combo. Any wild thing that needed to bloom has bloomed. Any wild thing that needed to feel all green is all green.

Day five of my Covid experience. Feeling pretty good. The antiviral meds are making their presence known. I have a funny taste in my mouth. Oh, well. Small price to pay for the help.

My birds. They gather to eat and drink. The latter is new. It took them a while to realize a bird bath was in place. They get it now. But no one is bathing. They sit on the edge and sip.

Woke to the sound of thunder and rain. Glanced at the radar. Realized I’d missed the bulk of the storm. Here’s to sound sleep.

I walked outside this early morning ready for fall and got more summer. The air is still and hot. In a word, stultifying, although stifling is good too.

For the last two days I’ve joked with friends about celebrating fall-like weather simply because the temperature was in the low 90s during the day.

I am home. Pulled in last night. Went to bed early. There are chores to do today, but not many.

A great, dark Gulf Coast thunderstorm rolled through yesterday afternoon. Lightning flashed. Thunder rolled. There were booms and cracks all around. The rain fell in torrents. It felt as though the entire Gulf of Mexico had come to the land.

Imagine my surprise. I walked out to feed the cats this morning and the driveway was wet. What? Rain? Wow. That’s nice. I’ll have to wait until the sun comes up to see how much.

Went to the top of a mountain yesterday. Actually, it was only close to the top. And we rode. On a ski lift. It was fun. It took about eight minutes to reach our destination.

Started the day yesterday with a short walk along the South Rim of the Rio Grande Gorge just outside Taos. Standing at the starting line, it looked mostly flat. We could see a long way into the distance.

It’s hot. Even in the shade. The wind blows. It’s hot. The ground is hot. The plants are hot. The animals are hot. My long-haired cats look like refugees from boot camp. There’s no escape.

I’m in Marathon. In the silence of the morning, I can hear the train whistling its way through town. A long call in the dark night warning the unexpecting.

I’m a grape picker. It was interesting work. Not sure I could do it eight hours a day, but two or three in the morning seem fine, especially when you’re gifted with a bottle of wine.

In the early 70s, as an intern for the Houston Chronicle, I was sent to interview Gunther Gebel Williams a lion tamer for Ringling Brother’s Barnum and Bailey Circus. He lived in a nicely appointed rail car.

I have a task. My new bird feeder uses high quality food. Peanuts and sunflower seeds. All ground into little pieces. The birds love it. But so too do other varmints.

I guess it’s true. Into each life a little rain must fall. Some fell into mine yesterday. Not the metaphorical sad kind. But the literal, real kind.

Yesterday evening in my pool, as I floated on my back, I was looking up into the clear blue Texas sky. The only things to see were a waxing gibbous moon, and a solitary buzzard floating on a thermal, wings extended.

Bonus. I scored two thunderstorms yesterday. The first showed around 8 p.m. The second appeared in the morning at 1 a.m. Although as I write that I realize actually it was one yesterday and one today.

This will sound weird. But I do believe I’m going to try and work outside more days this summer.