This is lovely. Stepped outside this morning. It is cold. 45. That’s fall weather. The air is clear, and the sun is golden on the grass. It will be the same this evening. Right before dusk everything will turn gold.

Drove through parts of Houston yesterday. Traveled up 45 from Sagemont, into downtown, and out again via Interstate 10. Went through areas where I lived a large part of my life.

The rain came. The heat departed. Nice combo. Any wild thing that needed to bloom has bloomed. Any wild thing that needed to feel all green is all green.

It is closer to noon than it is to dawn. Yet, here I sit, writing, as though the sun is still to rise and my day yet to begin.

Day five of my Covid experience. Feeling pretty good. The antiviral meds are making their presence known. I have a funny taste in my mouth. Oh, well. Small price to pay for the help.

I am returned from the valley of Covid. Dropped off the cliff Saturday morning about 2 a.m. Woke up to a raging fever and a head full of everything, along with a cough.

My birds. They gather to eat and drink. The latter is new. It took them a while to realize a bird bath was in place. They get it now. But no one is bathing. They sit on the edge and sip.

Woke to the sound of thunder and rain. Glanced at the radar. Realized I’d missed the bulk of the storm. Here’s to sound sleep.

I walked outside this early morning ready for fall and got more summer. The air is still and hot. In a word, stultifying, although stifling is good too.

Durn. I went to bed last night without thinking of something to write about this morning. This means sitting down fresh and sorting through a large collection of random thoughts to see what might be worth a few words.

For the last two days I’ve joked with friends about celebrating fall-like weather simply because the temperature was in the low 90s during the day.

I’m still carrying on from the day before when I talked about memories and friends. A second high school friend opined that for our generation (Memorial High School, 1964), it was usually the women who managed the social calendar.

Yesterday, I wrote about memories and the making of new ones with new friends. And a high school friend commented that she was in a new locale and ready to make new friends herself, and added, “…I sense you are lucky. I believe a lot of men don’t have friends for whatever reason….Any ideas why??”

I’m living with a mountain of memories. Just the other day, as a friend and I sat in our seats at a University of Houston football game, we looked back in time.

I mowed but the mower rebelled. It stopped. Won’t start. Small engines are not my specialty. But I will try because I have nothing if not time. It’s obviously not getting gas. Now I need to figure out why.

I am home. Pulled in last night. Went to bed early. There are chores to do today, but not many.

Last week was a good week with two weird exceptions. On Tuesday last, I misplaced my sunglasses. They disappeared without a trace and without a hint as to how I might have lost them.

Well, the work is finished. The holes are dug. The piles driven to refusal. The lifting complete. Doors close with ease. Cracks retreated.

It is easy to forget sometimes that there is actually hard work that needs doing.

Smoke detector batteries are only allowed to fail in the middle of the night. I have no idea how the makers of smoke detectors arrange this, but it’s true.