Dear Maria,
Just some light rain here yesterday morning and a little
more overnight, but via radar updates, I know you got pummeled by the heavy
storms that barreled down along the river last night. A cool morning at
least—cool enough to enjoy coffee on the patio and still cool when Max and I
toured the neighborhood.
A little later, when I stepped out the front door to make a
quick run to the grocery store, I watched a crow swoop down and peel up a frog
that had croaked overnight. I’ll have to drag out my book of symbols on that
one. Tough world out there—the mean streets, indeed.
The world of my garden is a little less violent, even as the
bluebirds continue to strafe every squirrel in sight. A pair of Carolina
Chickadees have become regular visitors to the feeder both morning and early
evening, and mourning doves now gather at the birdbath as the sun is nearly up.
Hearing them coo takes me a long way back to listening to them when I was a
child in Florida. One of those sounds that is pleasantly evocative, along with
the very particular whisper of a light breeze in the pines.
You know that I have a good view of the garden—and step out
there many times a day—so when something changes I take notice. Yesterday, in
the early evening, I stood out back while Max made his rounds, and I wondered when
the crape myrtle might flower. Surprise, this morning several of the crowns
were partially bloomed.
Just struck me as funny—not so much in a laugh-out-loud
fashion—that it is healthy, indeed necessary, for us to be unconscious for a
significant portion of the day, even as events great and small continue to
unfold. Thus the early news roundup, I guess: Overnight, frog flattened, crape
bloomed, and somewhere in the dark, a baby cried.
But, I digress. Imagine that.
Be well, and have fun.
Yours, srk
And though the news was rather sad...
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