The back porch garden has done well this winter. There are no weeds to speak of and only the blackfoot daisies look dead and gone. All that might need doing this spring is to refresh the mulch and replace the daisies if they fail a spring rebound.

The other morning the heifers gathered along the back fence to eat dead cactus and lounge in the winter sun. It was cool but not cold.

Death came knocking on the family door again. Yesterday, my first cousin once removed, Helen, the daughter of my grandmother’s younger brother, passed away. She blessed the earth with her presence for nearly 88 years.

I felt deflated yesterday. Which is appropriate, I suppose, since I had a needle stuck in my arm on Friday. Up until that point it was all excitement, and I was pumped up like a balloon. Then the deed was done.

Drove into town yesterday, Austin. Queued up. Got my shot. It was the second of the two dose Pfizer COVID-19 vaccine. Drove toward home.

Today is second dose day, COVID-19 vaccination time. It happens this afternoon. Supposedly the side-affects are more intense than those after the first dose, but I didn’t feel many side-affects. I did have a sore arm and one afternoon I felt rather lethargic, but overall, I’d have to give it a positive score.

It’s a frosty morning here at the homestead. It feels like flea killing weather, although since I disposed of all my outside thermometers, I have no way of knowing. It’s just cold, a crisp winter cold.

The winter rains have greened the yards, the poa annu, our winter bluegrass, is up along with an assortment of its winter weed cousins, too numerous to name. I mention the grass because none appeared in the tifway yard where my treatment with corn gluten apparently worked.

Looked at the moon last night in the clear cold air; had to crane my neck, it was almost directly overhead. We have some reclining lawn chairs I could have used for a longer view, but it was a spur of the moment thing and I was only out there to bring it the cat food.

We’re nearly done with 1/12 of the new year, I hope everyone made good use of it. I’ll get my second vaccination this week. I guess it’s a booster shot, getting me that last little way to 95% effectiveness. I think that’s a fair contribution to the common good.

It’s Sunday. I used to take the day off. Pause my literary output. I guess I thought it would keep me fresh. But an odd thing happened. The word spigot, once turned on, likes to stay that way. So, here I am on a gray winter’s morning sitting at my screen, coffee cup to the left, and the cat at my feet or in my lap or just walking around meowing, because she’s been out all night and needs a little love before her daytime slumbers.

Yesterday, I heard the sound of children laughing. I had to pause and listen. They were coming out for lunch, heading to the tables beneath the trees. One of them chased a squirrel. Another called out a shouted admonishment to stop.

I did another long walk yesterday. When I got home, I was pooped. Two and half miles with more elevation change than the last trip, probably because I got closer to the river. In addition to being pooped I felt enervated, totally lacking the will to do anything, which is what I did most of the day, nothing.

The ranch that butts up to our property has cattle roaming the range. Not many, five or six heifers with their calves. The ranch is a fair size, so I mostly see them when they come to drink at the windmill or wander by our fence grazing fresh green grass.

I swear. Sometimes I think my body holds a lottery every night to decide which part is going to hurt.

Being lost in space and time has its advantages, except when you want to get things done, and forget that Monday was a national holiday. So, no bank, no post office, no courthouse.

What a nice surprise. Eight hours of sleep. All at once. Straight through. One tiny wake-up, I think, it may have been a dream. Feels like the old days. Go to bed, wake up to the alarm. Can I repeat the feat tonight? We shall see.

Call me Mr. Industrious. Yesterday. I got my car inspected. Pruned a peach tree and dug up a dead one. I spent three hours burning a pile of brush.

It’s a fine winter’s morning here on the outskirts of our little town, and I confess to feeling blessed.

Information traveling at the speed of light is the blessing and the curse of the internet. Arcane scientific debates get played out in full view and people woefully ignorant of any facts get to have opinions.