Yesterday morning, all I could tell you about the rain was that it was falling. Today, this morning, I am able to report in what volume. Nearly, two inches.

Bill Worrell gave me a gift once and never even knew he did it. He threw a Christmas party that was open to all comers.

It has come to this. From the drive as I enter it, I can no longer see the house. Trees obscure the view, trees that once were barely more than head high.

The air outside my house is in an agitated state. Through my back window the mesquite whips about as does the Sumac and the trees along the far fence line.

I finally got around to trimming back the deadwood of the once vibrant Barbados Cherry. Turns out, it’s cherries, as in multiple plants.

Dreamed I got laid off. Didn’t seem to bother me. Not sure what the job was or why I got let go. The dream came during a good night’s sleep. I guess it was just the brain’s way of cleaning things up.

Yesterday, my granddaughter ran the third leg of her team’s 4 X 400-meter relay in our regional track meet on the way to state. She took the baton in sixth place out of eight runners.

…I believe I prefer the more imprecise approach of lumping decades together and thinking, yeah, I felt good then in a general sense…

I have in my possession a two CD set featuring 32 versions of House of the Rising Sun. …You might think it boring to hear the same song 32 times. But on the contrary, it’s a great lesson in how musical tastes vary…

The morning glory, bought at a little shop in Blanco, began its life with us on the fence behind the eve’s necklace and mountain laurels. They were short, the fence was tall, and the morning glory thrived.

The Barbados cherry will become a shorter plant today. Over the years it had managed to become a nice shrubby bush, about four feet tall.

Spring is like the movie you love to watch over and over, with every appearance a director’s cut so that there is always something new to see.

There is nothing like a night of music with friends, the drive home, and falling into bed, tired and happy only to be notified around 1:30 a.m. that you forgot to put the cat out.

Happy days in the gardens. Everything is growing, blooming, or getting ready to bloom. Even the pansies that I put in for winter color are having a go at spring.

Lavender. An unassuming star of our gardens. Star in the sense that it needs little water, has a lovely foliage color, and grows well in a relaxed sort of way.

Several years back I planted some walker’s low catmint. It did well. But since the southern garden on the back porch has a slope to it, the catmint migrated down hill. Natural thing to do.

Hackberries are the plague of my gardens. We live close to the wilds, there are lots of hackberries there, and lots of birds to eat their fruit. The birds visit our trees. Poop the digested seeds. Hackberries sprout.

One, true, beautiful thing. That was my thought last night as I endured another session of trying to stabilize a life destabilized by the death of my wife.

Sometimes, in the morning, when I walk around the yard or stand on the porch, everything feels as it was, especially on a Sunday.

It was a beautiful morning yesterday, cool and the air was gentle on my skin. It mattered little that I thought the air belonged to Friday. It was still a nice day.