For a while last week, I thought I had a poignant Christmas essay in my sights, full of pathos. With then and now, youth and old age, family and loneliness. Then, it melted away.

The southern porch sits close by the fence that marks one of our property lines. Consequently, we get fence trees, mainly hackberries. Sometimes they’re right on the fence, sometimes just off. A while back we had one just off and I let it grow.

There are three cameras monitoring the nightly comings and going of the local wildlife, which consist mainly of a fox, two skunks, a possum, an occasional deer, and what I’m sure is an assort of raccoons.

Fasting labs used to be no big deal. But that was before the routine was a carefully mapped out journey from dawn to dusk. Now they’re a break in the schedule, I have to write it down on the white board to remember it, and I have to wrap my mind around the idea of no coffee no food before the blood draw.

I’m washing windows. It started when I had several replaced last week. The new glass made the old glass look dingy. So, I mixed up a batch of homemade window cleaner, pulled out the old microfiber rag, and got after it.

Spring. We all think about it. We all love it; especially, when the days shorten to next to nothing and the cold pushes us indoors. And perhaps that’s why no one celebrates the green underfoot as the so called winter weeds begin to appear…

Several weeks back my good work gloves went missing. Now that sounds like they took off on their own. The truth of the matter, however, is I misplaced them. Don’t ask how. I don’t know. I had them. Then I didn’t.

For years a big metal sunflower, a gift from my wife’s Ya-Ya’s, has stood hidden behind the big rose bush at the east end of the house. When it was first placed there, the rose was small, the burr oak a young tree, the yaupon holly a child, and the Orchid tree equally small.

There appears to be moisture in the air this morning and the garage apron looks wet. I’m not going to dignify it and say its rain. Although, we need rain, and it would be nice if some would come.

I was thinking about joy yesterday and trying to remember where I used to find it. And while I was thinking about it the subject of happiness came up as did pleasure and I began to wonder how inter-related they all were and if you could have one without the others.

Yesterday was an ordinary day until about five p.m. Then I got the text, along with pictures, that my wife’s monument had been placed. Nothing like a ton of gray granite with your loved one’s name engraved on it to announce the finality of death.

I finally planted the Pansies. Originally scheduled for porch pots, I put them in the ground. Now I can see them when I look out the kitchen window.

It’s a cold, spare morning today, just like the other cold, spare mornings that preceded it this week. There’s nary a breeze, and it’s setting up to be a nice day. Should be easy on a personal level as well.

Standing in the dark of my yard, staring across the dark of the park next door, I can see above the tree line the Christmas lights of Pedernales Electric co-op.

Yesterday, I decided I needed something to contemplate, some tiny thing. Some obscure thing that didn’t even know I was looking. Some thing that could use a good writing about, even though most folks wouldn’t give it a second glance.

The husband of my wife’s favorite cousin passed away last night. The software I’m using to write this suggests I simply say he died. It feels a little abrupt. Passing away implies a continuation of a journey, which is something I’m certain he believed. So, I’m going to stick with that.

Another brisk morning. There’s the smell of smoke from my neighbor’s woodburning stove. A little clutch of deer is grazing along the fence. The first hints of traffic are moving down highway 290. The air is clear, and a waning moon is hanging in the western sky.

It’s a nice feeling in the bed beneath the covers in the dark on a cold morning. Everything feels just right. It’s that magical time before you’re born again into a new day.

Our big flame leaf sumac finally gave us a show of color this year, less the scarlet seen on a few of its roadside cousins, but enough red and yellow to qualify as a fall spectacle.

Made a dessert yesterday. Basically flour, butter, pecans, cream cheese, whipped cream, and chocolate pudding, all layered up. By name, we called it Cajun Delight, partly I think because, butter.