I weeded in the garden yesterday. It was satisfying. I’ll do more today. The rains came. The dirt is soft. The air is cool as well, and that’s good, too. I’m in the mood. The mood. The garden mood.

We have red ants, the big ones. I’m sort of partial to them. They mostly mind their own business. They trundle around picking up seeds, carrying them back to the nest.

It’s funny how life goes. How friendships ebb and flow. How jobs come and go. How time hurtles on and how time just creeps, ever so slow.

Our forecast high today is 106 degrees Fahrenheit. That is entirely too hot for this neck of the woods. That’s Phoenix weather.

The swallows are in training for their flight home. They disappear during the day for long stretches, stretching their wings, building strength, getting the little ones ready.

It’s a lovely day in the neighborhood. We have clouds, which means the morning sun can give us a show, and it did so. I spooked a small herd of deer when I walked out my gate to get a better look.

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.