Muggy morning. Boo. I prefer cool and crisp. It’s good though. The general consensus is that a month of rain saturating the ground might make for a cool July.

There’s a persistent little weed in my garden. It looks like a grass but has stems that are so weak they fall over. It’s one shining attribute is a tiny, two-lobed blue flower that appears every morning before disappearing around noon.

They say you learn how to grieve as a child by watching those around you. I never thought much about it until now with the passing of my wife. Then I started taking an inventory.

Goodness. The rain. It keeps on coming. I’m this close to saying, enough. But I’m not looking for a rainbow. I hope we have a wet summer.

Went to hear live music last night. Met a new friend. Sat with old friends. Got a hug from a pretty girl. Drank a beer, or two. The doors of perception cracked open.

I have to confess. Sometimes, this feels so vain. Constantly talking about everything I see and do.

Went to the river this weekend. Camped in the woods, beneath the big pecans. The trees are heavy and thick with age.