A sage plant sits on either side of my driveway entrance, a third sits opposite my kitchen window along the north fence, and a fourth sits behind the big oaks, ostensibly to block the view from the street of the space behind the workroom. They are all, in gloriously, flourishing full bloom, purple delights, beneficiaries of coolish summer weather and rain.

As I stood by the front room window this morning, looking out onto the pasture, a fox popped up from beneath the sumacs. He trotted along into the back porch garden, paused to mark scent on a big rock by the rosemary and continued on his way.

Yesterday was a day of relatively mindless work no one will ever notice, except me. I weeded the platform behind the garage where I keep the trash cans and a rainwater collection tank.

I will admit. I am a fan of feng shui. Thus, the drive to our home curves in front of the house, and the path to our front door is clear and uncluttered.

Death came knocking beneath the trees. I was on my way to the workroom yesterday when I interrupted a gathering of buzzards at their meal between the north fence and the big oaks and the sage.

It’s a nice day in the neighborhood. The morning air is cool. The bees are buzzing, the birds chirping, and the mosquitos are looking for blood.

I believe summer is finally beginning. It is warm this morning. And there’s nary a breeze. I like my morning’s cool.

We’ve had a wet spring and early summer. Everything that likes water is getting water. I’m cautiously optimistic we might make it to fall without losing anything.

It’s the days of the crape myrtles. They’re all in bloom. Pink petals litter the drive. Everywhere you look there are flowers. White by the back door. Pink in the back garden. Pink in the front, white in the front, purple, too.

Outside my door there’s thunder and I saw lightning just a bit ago. The storm is just to the south of me. I can see rain in the tree line.

Flame leaf sumacs have colonized the ditch along the pasture fence on the south side of the house. They’re robust growers and can get tree-like in a hurry. But they’re frail, and they break apart in high winds.

It’s a cool May morning. We had a good rain yesterday. The ground is well wet. The rain gauge shows nearly 1.25 inches, but I have no idea when last it was emptied. So, that could be several days worth of precipitation.

I had a talk with the machine yesterday. Here’s how it went. I took the cowling off the gas tank. Disconnected the two fuel lines. Blew into one of them to clear any debris. Reconnected the lines. Turned the starter. Fuel flowed into the filter.

I’ve been on a break. And like any program, it pays to start off slow when you’re getting back into the routine. So, no reminiscing today.

The biggest of the two chinquapin oaks is still largely a tree of bare branches. It’s odd because all of its brethren in the yard, lacy and burr, are on full display.

Rain is a weeders best friend. We had a big one on Tuesday, more than an inch. So, yesterday, after writing about my new enemy the Musk or nodding thistle, I had a beautiful morning with my turning fork digging up the pests.

I have a new enemy in the war of the weeds. The Musk, or nodding thistle. It has a beautiful, large, purple bloom. It has hyper aggressive leaves and stalks.

I slept hard but not so long last night, and there were no dreams I remember. It was just the usual. Asleep at ten. Awake and two. Asleep at four and awake at six.

They’re putting out porta-potties along the main drag through town in anticipation of Monday’s solar eclipse. There’s a cache of barricades, too. No idea where those will go.

It might be the season of the Crossvine. I planted it last year to grow on the new gazebo. It seemed to prosper, but not flourish. Then winter came, and I had no idea how it would fare as it died back and seemed to disappear.