I thought I had fallen out of love with camping. Bugs, weather, and discomfort having done me in. But when I stepped out of my tent this past Saturday morning, I realized we were still a couple.

Another cool, blessed morning. This time the birds were waiting for me to bring out the feeder. A little Carolina Chickadee and a Titmouse were in the trees.

We got an inch of rain last night, my hand is healing nicely, and I’m back in the wordy saddle. It feels as though I got a good night’s sleep. Lots of dreams. I mean seriously, lots of them and really detailed, too, but none worth repeating.

Life at the bird feeder is heating up. Word is out, and creatures big and small are showing up.

It’s cool this morning. It feels like spring. The air is fresh and clear. There’s still a hint of moisture from the days of rain. There’s a breeze, too. New green sprouts cover almost everything in the garden.

I have birds. Little ones. At the feeder. Taking a bite. Flying off to eat. Black-crested Titmouse. Carolina Wren. Female goldfinch. Cardinals.

I’m in the country in a very fine house and it’s raining to beat the band. Seriously, the heavens have opened up and are trying to dump all the water in the world right on top of us.

Bought a new bird feeder. It’s designed to defeat house sparrows and squirrels. The food in the new feeder sits in a tube surrounded by wire mesh that slides down when something heavy hangs on it.

No sooner did I speak of it than it happened. The rock rose bloomed. Once upon a time it was ensconced beneath a young crape myrtle growing in a tiny little garden spot by the front porch.

I’m a sucker for blooms. Big, small, in between. It makes no difference. I love flowers.

Life. A tenacious beast. Last week I watched a turtle lay eggs in a field along a fairway on a golf course. She was pretty exposed, but there was a fence so I’m guessing it would have been hard to really disturb her.

Good morning from the dark side of dawn. I’ve missed two days.

It happened again. Dire warnings. Flashes in the sky. No rain. Not even thunder. There’s drizzle this morning. That’s good. But no drenching downpour. That’s good, too, actually.

I think we’re in the year of the near miss storm. My phone was alive with alerts yesterday. The sky was alive with lightning and thunder. We heard the booms; we heard the bangs.

It appears I may have finally dissuaded a pair of swallows from breeding in my garage. Of course, the garage has all manner of bird control devices in it and it’s scented with peppermint spray, but it’s a fair trade from being covered in swallow poop.

The grass in the pasture is a light spring green, and the trees are fully leafed. The recent rains did well by us, and all the plants seem happy.

Had a good day yesterday. And I know, it seems as though I’m having a lot of good days recently, because I am. So, maybe I should stop referring to all the good days as good days and just get on with it.

I play Wordle. I love it. My opening word is alone. It has three vowels and four of the top ten letters. It works pretty well most days. But I got to wondering this morning why I picked it. Alone.

A front blew through, the air chilled, and all my trees have leafed out. It’s canopy time for my yard. That’s nice. My little trees are juveniles.

Sun damage. A lifetime of it. Had a chunk of my hand dug out on Friday. That was followed by freezer burns to about six or seven spots on my face. I actually lost count as the doctor spritzed.