The tin roof is on, four sheets. There is nary a shimmy to be found. The little shed feels sturdy. Now it’s on to the finishing work.

The first of the four roof tins is in place. It took me a while. First of all, I realized I needed additional lumber for the rafters. More feels better and secure. Then I had to overcome an earlier mistake which came about because I got ahead of myself.

Physical labor is good for what ails ya. I may have to go on a building program. Trimmed tin yesterday on my little shed and got another good night’s sleep. Woke up once for a drink and went right back to sleep.

I watched my little bird go to bed last night. It landed on the birdbath. Surveyed its surroundings. Then flitted up to its little notch at the top of the cedar porch pole and settled in for the night.

Hooray for first frost. It came last night. The grass was dusted with bits of ice this morning. It didn’t last long. The sun saw it’s duty and did it. It’s good to feel a little cold in the morning, however.

I like going into my back lots at night and looking at the stars. It’s dark in the lots and we’re still country enough that light pollution is at a minimum. So, the night sky is starlit. I also like checking in on my little porch bird, huddled up at the top of its pole, sound asleep.

The pump house is coming along. It turns out I have more tin than I imagined. Plus, I’m making do with what I have so, old fence slats are filling in where needed.

It feels odd to be writing about small things when there’s a big thing happening right down the road, but this big thing isn’t a personal tale like my other big things. Those were peculiar to me but relatable, an illness in the family, a death, things we all suffer.

I sang some songs yesterday to a crowd of people. Mostly nobody listened. A few did. I could see them looking at me. But the rest just talked and chattered as I played.

An only upside in failing to sleep through the night is being able to walk out onto my porch and look at the pasture behind my house in the light of a nearly full moon. It’s a bonus when the temperature is in the 40s and there’s no breeze.

It’s a cold crisp morning in the Hill Country. The air is clear, not a cloud in the sky. The presidential election didn’t go my way, but the sun has come up every morning since and gone down as well. I’m disappointed, but it isn’t the first time, nor will it be the last.

We got a semi-big rain last night. By my gauge, it was nearly half an inch. My new roof appears to work as do the new gutters which now shed water at all four corners of the house.

As a democracy, we don’t seem to care. Voter participation has hovered between 50 and 60% in presidential elections over the last 120 years. The last time it hit 70% was in 1900.

A fair number of my friends are Republicans. And we have talked politics on and off over the years. We have discussed various issues and compared candidates. I know how some of them feel about their current candidate and I am unaware how others feel.

To me, this election is about my vision of America. Kind, considerate, gentle, caring.

Ah, the mysteries of life. I listen to the speeches of the current Republican nominee for president, and I hear nothing but vile words filled with contempt and hate. Yet, a neighbor down the street or a friend across the state hears the same speech and it’s the nectar of the gods.

In my view across the great political divide, I see signs for the other side all around the area where I live. They’ve grown exponentially with the election, but election season or not the current Republican candidates name is always there along with flags with his name on them.

I don’t know why I care about immigrants, illegal or otherwise.

My back’s feeling better these days, but my soul’s still a little sore. It feels as though some people want this election to be about God because there’s a lot of bible thumping going on.