It’s amazing how long moisture stays in the ground when the sun isn’t beating down. In the summer a fair rain might last two days. In the fall, a fair rain hangs around as if it has nothing better to do.

I think I’ve entered a new epoch in my life, hinging on my hike to the top of Guadalupe Peak, the highest point in Texas. I’d like to call it my Guadalupian Epoch…

Well, that was an interesting exercise. Five days. Writing every day, getting ready for the next day. Usually, I do what I’m doing now. Sit down in the morning and write.

Friday dawned cold and wet. We were all up early and ready to go. We’d had a good three days, but there was one more day left.

Tomorrow. It came. Wet and cold. Clouds swarmed down and hung over the hills as if to say, enough, you’ve thought about us enough. Time to move on. And we did.

Ah, sleep. On the morning of the second day, the grimness and exhaustion of the previous evening began to fade away with coffee and comradery.

We arrived at the Pine Spring campground in the Guadalupe Mountains National Park on Monday evening, my Ozona friend and I with his camper. Our Canyon Lake friend in hers. We ate a nice dinner. Made plans for the morning and retired to our quarters.

What a trip what a year.

By standard metrics, I’m old. My sixtieth high school reunion is next year. And I feel as though I look old, too. Gravity, after all, pulls and tugs and skin sags. But I don’t feel old, although I’m not sure what old feels like.

Sometimes I pull a thought and an entire sweater unravels. In the last three days I’ve written about the torture of waiting for an answer, the pain of getting something other than what you want, and my technique for dealing with it. I thought I was done, but lo and behold, there’s more.

Damp and cool is the way to go. I have a sage I planted this year in the garden area I created on the north fence. It struggled this summer. I thought it was gone.

It rained. One half of one inch. The ground is wet. I doubt any creek knows the difference. Still, it’s nice to be cool and wet.

One thing I’ve learned from my recent discovery of geology is this. Rivers dry up. Rivers change course. Rivers are anything but permanent.

It’s another fine fall morning. Venus is so bright in the dark before sunrise it seems unreal. As are the rest of the stars for that matter. Jupiter hangs shining in the west, while Orion’s belt tightens everything up in the Southwest.

This is lovely. Stepped outside this morning. It is cold. 45. That’s fall weather. The air is clear, and the sun is golden on the grass. It will be the same this evening. Right before dusk everything will turn gold.

The rain came. The heat departed. Nice combo. Any wild thing that needed to bloom has bloomed. Any wild thing that needed to feel all green is all green.

Day five of my Covid experience. Feeling pretty good. The antiviral meds are making their presence known. I have a funny taste in my mouth. Oh, well. Small price to pay for the help.

My birds. They gather to eat and drink. The latter is new. It took them a while to realize a bird bath was in place. They get it now. But no one is bathing. They sit on the edge and sip.

Woke to the sound of thunder and rain. Glanced at the radar. Realized I’d missed the bulk of the storm. Here’s to sound sleep.

I walked outside this early morning ready for fall and got more summer. The air is still and hot. In a word, stultifying, although stifling is good too.