Of the five or seven beautiful days in the year, today was one of them. Clear air, good Butterfly breeze, sufficient cloud in a sky that was a respectable blue, a close up look at one of those Warblers that's impossible to identify, an absence of quarrel in the community of Mockingbird, and though it is still early, nothing has yet bitten me. Which means today could become the day all other days will from henceforth be compared to.
And on a day like this I had my chance to better understand the statement
"Socrates was decadent." And while I am very aware that most will dismiss
this statement, I was able to better understand it, because when the weather is
perfect and the day is beautiful, I become a materialists. Idea
disappears. So on reflection it was probably just as well that while
digging the Potato, I found some that had been gnawed upon by Vole.