The sky is a dangerous blue, humidity with an easterly wind is low, Maple whirligigs are flying, a Merlin hiding in the Cedar, a Green Stinkbug sighting and without really wanting to, your gardener watered his Potatoes. It's all very suspicious out there, as though Summer is leading the charge before Spring is done, a recipe for disaster, there'll be eighties and nineties in the Fahrenheit range before we know it, and the ground bone dry by June.
Might well be it's an attitude problem, but I see absolutely no joy in these
past couple of days of a weather pattern that many might describe as blissful.
It's true, my own slope in the wider tapestry is dour, it contains a grimness, but
give me three days of gentle rain and I'd a happy Bunting.
Mind you it's a fish pool of Butterfly at the blooms of Autumn Olives, an
invasive plant I'm told, the Kingbirds haven't arrived yet, nor have the Yellow
Chat, I wonder if they know something