Went to the top of a mountain yesterday. Actually, it was only close to the top. And we rode. On a ski lift. It was fun. It took about eight minutes to reach our destination.

Started the day yesterday with a short walk along the South Rim of the Rio Grande Gorge just outside Taos. Standing at the starting line, it looked mostly flat. We could see a long way into the distance.

It’s hot. Even in the shade. The wind blows. It’s hot. The ground is hot. The plants are hot. The animals are hot. My long-haired cats look like refugees from boot camp. There’s no escape.

I’m in Marathon. In the silence of the morning, I can hear the train whistling its way through town. A long call in the dark night warning the unexpecting.

I’m a grape picker. It was interesting work. Not sure I could do it eight hours a day, but two or three in the morning seem fine, especially when you’re gifted with a bottle of wine.

In the early 70s, as an intern for the Houston Chronicle, I was sent to interview Gunther Gebel Williams a lion tamer for Ringling Brother’s Barnum and Bailey Circus. He lived in a nicely appointed rail car.

I have a task. My new bird feeder uses high quality food. Peanuts and sunflower seeds. All ground into little pieces. The birds love it. But so too do other varmints.

I guess it’s true. Into each life a little rain must fall. Some fell into mine yesterday. Not the metaphorical sad kind. But the literal, real kind.

Yesterday evening in my pool, as I floated on my back, I was looking up into the clear blue Texas sky. The only things to see were a waxing gibbous moon, and a solitary buzzard floating on a thermal, wings extended.

Bonus. I scored two thunderstorms yesterday. The first showed around 8 p.m. The second appeared in the morning at 1 a.m. Although as I write that I realize actually it was one yesterday and one today.

This will sound weird. But I do believe I’m going to try and work outside more days this summer.

Had a good day in the yard yesterday, despite the heat. It was actually invigorating if you count being drenched in sweat invigorating. But I had chores to do, and I wanted to do them, so I did.

Memory is a funny thing. I know, for instance, there is only one natural lake in Texas. Somehow, I came to believe that was Inks Lake.

The birds are fed. The cats are fed. Wordle is in the books. My day begins. I’m thinking about my garden again and the satisfaction it offers.

Swallows. I have a pair trying to nest on the wall over the entrance to the dog run. Which means, if they’re successful, that when someone comes to my front door, they’d have to navigate a pile of bird dung. Not in the plan.

We had a high of 94 yesterday in our little town. Today it is expected to hit 97. But it’s cool this morning, and there are a few clouds about. So, it’s a nice walk around the trees to look at the plants.

It’s an air-is-out-of-the-balloon day. The grandson is gone, back to his mom and dad, and the emptiness is shrinking in around me. That’s okay, however, it happens every time the kids come then go.

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.