Busy days. I’m getting ready to have my roof replaced. Hail damage. Made it look bad. Nothing structural. Apparently, I had a rider that said they’d replace it if it got dented.

A bird hit my window yesterday, it appears to be a juvenile goldfinch. It was fatal. It makes me sad when the birds die at my window while flying toward what they believe to be blue skies and trees.

Took a dip in the spring at Balmorhea yesterday. A long dip. We got there early. Staked out our spots. Inflated the floats. Got into the pool. We floated and talked. Friends arrived. More friends arrived. We met new friends.

High up in the middle of the big chinquapin oak is a dove’s nest. I discovered it one day quite by accident. I was standing by the tree with my hand on the trunk, thinking how thick it felt and remembering back to the days when we planted it.

It is odd in the first days of August to look out the kitchen window and see a lawn of intense green. A lawn that would make a suburban dad proud. A lawn that would make an HOA smile. A lawn that speaks of a surfeit of water. A lawn that speaks of rain.

I like dew on freshly mown grass, the tracks of the mower clear and clean. I like dew on light green leaves, the new growth. I like dew beneath my feet. An abundance of moisture.

I’ve been on a mission over the last several years combatting bindweed. Bindweed is winning. In fact, I now know my enemy’s true name, Purple Bindweed.

A sage plant sits on either side of my driveway entrance, a third sits opposite my kitchen window along the north fence, and a fourth sits behind the big oaks, ostensibly to block the view from the street of the space behind the workroom. They are all, in gloriously, flourishing full bloom, purple delights, beneficiaries of coolish summer weather and rain.

As I stood by the front room window this morning, looking out onto the pasture, a fox popped up from beneath the sumacs. He trotted along into the back porch garden, paused to mark scent on a big rock by the rosemary and continued on his way.

Yesterday was a day of relatively mindless work no one will ever notice, except me. I weeded the platform behind the garage where I keep the trash cans and a rainwater collection tank.

I will admit. I am a fan of feng shui. Thus, the drive to our home curves in front of the house, and the path to our front door is clear and uncluttered.

Death came knocking beneath the trees. I was on my way to the workroom yesterday when I interrupted a gathering of buzzards at their meal between the north fence and the big oaks and the sage.

It’s a nice day in the neighborhood. The morning air is cool. The bees are buzzing, the birds chirping, and the mosquitos are looking for blood.

I believe summer is finally beginning. It is warm this morning. And there’s nary a breeze. I like my morning’s cool.

We’ve had a wet spring and early summer. Everything that likes water is getting water. I’m cautiously optimistic we might make it to fall without losing anything.

It’s the days of the crape myrtles. They’re all in bloom. Pink petals litter the drive. Everywhere you look there are flowers. White by the back door. Pink in the back garden. Pink in the front, white in the front, purple, too.

Outside my door there’s thunder and I saw lightning just a bit ago. The storm is just to the south of me. I can see rain in the tree line.

Flame leaf sumacs have colonized the ditch along the pasture fence on the south side of the house. They’re robust growers and can get tree-like in a hurry. But they’re frail, and they break apart in high winds.

It’s a cool May morning. We had a good rain yesterday. The ground is well wet. The rain gauge shows nearly 1.25 inches, but I have no idea when last it was emptied. So, that could be several days worth of precipitation.

I had a talk with the machine yesterday. Here’s how it went. I took the cowling off the gas tank. Disconnected the two fuel lines. Blew into one of them to clear any debris. Reconnected the lines. Turned the starter. Fuel flowed into the filter.