I’ve been on a break. And like any program, it pays to start off slow when you’re getting back into the routine. So, no reminiscing today.

The biggest of the two chinquapin oaks is still largely a tree of bare branches. It’s odd because all of its brethren in the yard, lacy and burr, are on full display.

Rain is a weeders best friend. We had a big one on Tuesday, more than an inch. So, yesterday, after writing about my new enemy the Musk or nodding thistle, I had a beautiful morning with my turning fork digging up the pests.

I have a new enemy in the war of the weeds. The Musk, or nodding thistle. It has a beautiful, large, purple bloom. It has hyper aggressive leaves and stalks.

I slept hard but not so long last night, and there were no dreams I remember. It was just the usual. Asleep at ten. Awake and two. Asleep at four and awake at six.

They’re putting out porta-potties along the main drag through town in anticipation of Monday’s solar eclipse. There’s a cache of barricades, too. No idea where those will go.

It might be the season of the Crossvine. I planted it last year to grow on the new gazebo. It seemed to prosper, but not flourish. Then winter came, and I had no idea how it would fare as it died back and seemed to disappear.

It was another nice day in the yard. Except this time, I was digging. Thistle’s. The big, aggressive kind. The one’s who’s leaves will bite at the faintest touch.

Spent time with my flowers yesterday. No pruning or digging. Just looking and touching.

I’m coming down from the mountains today, even though I spent most of yesterday reading about them, the ones in Big Bend. Today I’m back in the Hill Country…

I’ve been waxing euphoric about mountains the last several days, and I see no reason to stop. Because I enjoy these mountains, the mountains of Big Bend. It’s tempting to say they stole my heart, but it’s more appropriate to say I made a place for them in it.

It has come to me that I can see. And not because I look out and see mountains, but simply because I look, and the mountains come to me.

My love. West Texas. The Big Bend. Loves me not. Sure. There’s the sparkling smile of a midnight sky. The warm embrace of the morning sun. The sweet kiss of a soft breeze. But it’s only a place and its warm embrace can easily turn me to dust.

I think I’ve fallen in love. West Texas. Big Bend. The high peaks of the Chisos. The Bofecillos. The calderas of The Solitario and Pine Canyon. The clotted veins of dried lava tubes. The sky-high piles of volcanic ash doing its best to cover the remnants of dead seas.

There were times, after we moved to the country south of Houston, when we’d find ourselves on deserted back roads after dark as we returned home. On nights of the full moon, it was possible to turn off the car’s lights and see clearly the road ahead.

I’m still tending my gardens. Pulling up errant grasses, henbit and Velcro weed (Galium aparine). The latter is truly a weird pest in that it adheres to anything it touches except metal.

Took a look at my yard and gardens the other day and realized they need some work. So, I’ve been giving it to them. I’m on my hands and knees pulling weeds and winter grasses.

I miss the big booms of Gulf Coast thunderstorms, with their white flashes and window rattling rumbles. The kind of storm that feels as though you’re right out in it even though you’re in a house.

Once, in the days before children, in earliest years of marriage, we went camping with another couple. Dear friends. It was winter. We were young. It was cold. We stayed in a tent. The temperature dipped into the teens.

I have a love hate relationship with my sinuses. Normally, I think they’re cool. We breathe in and out and everything is good. I do my best to keep out the viruses and bacteria. But every once in a while, something gets in and we’re off to the races.