For the last two days I’ve joked with friends about celebrating fall-like weather simply because the temperature was in the low 90s during the day.

I am home. Pulled in last night. Went to bed early. There are chores to do today, but not many.

A great, dark Gulf Coast thunderstorm rolled through yesterday afternoon. Lightning flashed. Thunder rolled. There were booms and cracks all around. The rain fell in torrents. It felt as though the entire Gulf of Mexico had come to the land.

Imagine my surprise. I walked out to feed the cats this morning and the driveway was wet. What? Rain? Wow. That’s nice. I’ll have to wait until the sun comes up to see how much.

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.