Green has never been my color except it’s the color of money and the color of nature and both of those are big pluses. Unfortunately, I’ve had more exposure to the latter than the former, especially now that I never really see a dollar. Who among us actually handles money these days. It’s more of a concept than a real thing. But I can’t say I miss standing in line to deposit a paycheck. It’s nice to have the funds magically appear.

My wildflowers are certainly enjoying the cool embrace of our recent wet weather. The Lemon Bee Balm is coming up along with some Queen Annes Lace that was in one of the wildflower packets I sowed. Not many consider the Lace a wildflower. But there it is so I’ll take it. It bears a small resemblance in its flowers and leaves to hedge parsley, which I pull from my gardens when I can. We’ll see how the new visitor matures.

I think finding my way back to books has had a material effect on my sleep. The 3 a.m wake-up still comes but not with a rush that truly wakes me. I simply roll over and go back to sleep, and when I am awake, I look for any excuse to sit down with the book and get on with the story. And if you’re curious as to story, it’s the Dungeon Crawler Carl series. I’m on book three. There are eight books, with more planned. I’m not sure how far I’ll get but we’ll see how it goes.

Movie time. Watched two films recently. The fourth John Wick installment, and One Battle After Another. Mr. Wick has now killed approximately 439 people in those four movies. Someone calculated that’s a kill roughly every 1 minute and 11 seconds on average. I found it less entertaining this time around. Plus, he’s taken an astonishing number of falls to little affect. I guess the Baba Jaga is immune to the laws of physics.

Two, two-inch rains, back-to-back, is a good soaking in anyone’s book. And if I kept detailed stats, I’d be able to comment on just how much rain has fallen this month of May. But my stat keeping is nonexistent. I might note it in this blog, but there’s no other record. So, let me sum it up. Monday and Tuesday were wet, rainy days. My rain tanks are full, and the ground is as soft as butter.

We had another good rain yesterday. My gauge clocked in at 2.5 inches, and a lot of that fell in a very short time. I suppose that’s why my phone started blowing up with flash flood warnings. More is promised today once the day warms and the air gets stirred up. We’ve had a nice wet month of May, and some of the local lakes are benefiting. So, it was a nice Memorial Day.

Walked into the carport yesterday to get my gloves and came face to face with three wren chicks learning to fly. One fluttered off to get stuck between the shelves and the carport wall. The remaining two just sat and looked at me. The mother or the father, I don’t know which headed back to the nest. In deference to the birds and the training session, I backed up, forswore the gloves, and moved on.

It’s a lovely morning in the neighborhood. The sun is out, the birds are singing, there’s dew on the grass. The air is cool and kind. I’m in a good mood. I have a slightly sore finger from the prick of Mesquite thorn. I started trimming a tree yesterday and got careless. But overall, I feel fine, and I’m doing the best I can to maintain that spirit.

When we first moved into our new home we were gifted with spineless cactus. We put one on either side of the entrance to our driveway. Eventually, they outgrew the space. I dug them up and moved them to the backlots along the south fence. There they are thriving. To say they are comfortable in their space is an understatement. They are a great windbreak and deer deterrent.

I’m binging on books, the paper kind I can hold in my hand as I try to get the light just so as I read. I want to break my fixation with my phone and digital media. I want to work at getting information into my brain rather than having it pushed at me like an IV. I want to read the back cover, see a paragraph about the author, a summary of the text, and assess its worthiness for consumption. I want to sit when I’m done and consider what I just read.

The world is the world, and these days almost everyone shops online. It’s easy. It’s convenient. It’s mostly cheaper. And there are infinitely more choices. I do it as well. But generally speaking, I like going to stores, picking up the goods, looking at them, getting a feel for the product, and talking to the clerks. Plus, it’s nice to have someone thank you when you check out. Of course, there’s a cost.

A storm blew in last night and I slept right through it. That’s a good sign, I think. Plus, nearly an inch of rain fell, and I know that’s a good sign. Of course, I’m not real sure what to do with all those good signs. I guess just be happy, and seems relatively easy, which is another good sign. So, off we go, happy to have rain and good night’s sleep.

I had a thought. Some people I know run when I say that, but I have them, thoughts, and I can’t stop. Here it is. The thought. I’m spending too much time thinking and talking about my age. Age isn’t a thing. It’s a data point. Granted, I’m approaching eighty and only about three percent of the US is there, but it’s still just a number, and I need to remember that. I always did before and I need to start doing it again.

On Thursday the golf gods smiled. Chips rolled close. Putts dropped in. I shot a low score for an old man. On Sunday, the gods were attending other business. Ancient swing thoughts sprang forth. Balls went hither and yon or nowhere at all. We took shelter from lightning. The round progressed to its inglorious end. My humility was strengthened. I will try again.

Over the years, I’ve had little plots of ground to call my own. Some were large, most were small. Mostly, the typical subdivision. A house. A front yard. A backyard. The latter was where the magic happened, for me. A privacy fence gave privacy of a sort. Combined with the magic of the mind I could stand outside and survey my kingdom.

The wrens are hellbent on nesting in and around the house. This spring I had one try build a nest in the watering can sitting on top of a rain barrel on the north porch. Now I discover there’s a nest in a box on top of the shelves in the carport. I think I’ll let them have it. Next season I’ll build them some boxes and set them out in likely places.

My north fence garden is filling in nicely. I created it as support for a struggling chinquapin oak that was trying to survive in bare ground. The garden and the oak seem to be doing well. I’m particularly impressed with the upright rosemary, a plant that previously never graced my grounds. I have no idea why, but we always bought prostrate rosemary. Things change I guess.

A nice thing about spring, especially the days when it dresses up like summer, is how cool it gets in the evening. The heat of a summer day, which lingers into the night, is only a hint in the warm days of late spring. When the sun goes down, the heat goes down. The yard is a nice place to walk. The flowers still have a spring in their step.g walk.

I had a nice grandpa week. Got to spend time with the newest grandson, barely eight weeks old. He smiled when I held him, but it might have been gas. I think babies and old men have the same constitution. We like to sleep, be fed, and be rocked. And some of us, if we’re unlucky, need our diapers changed. Maybe my time will come. Who knows. A bridge to be crossed.

I mostly feel rootless. Like mosses or liverworts. I drift along on the surface of wherever I am, perfectly content to be there while actually being nowhere. Today I’m in Virginia. And I could live here. Easily. But then again, I could live in Big Bend, or Taos, or London, or New York, or the Black Hills. They’re all places I’ve been and all places where I felt comfortable once there. Of course, being rootless means I’d never stay. But why should that stop me from living somewhere?