Living by a creek means critters often stop by and these past few weeks a yellow striped swallowtail butterfly (or several) has flown up close to greet me nearly every time I have stepped outside. The meadow where there used to be lawn is awash with fireflies each night. Bats have flown at dusk just outside the kitchen window.

Of course it’s not all delight and wonder. For the privilege of watching hummingbird gestation, I’m on call for feeder filling and receive reprimands when the level is low – or Egads! – empty. I’ve not seen either of the two pregnant hummers at the feeder today – or if I did, I didn’t recognize them from a slimmer form. The last time I saw the green one, the egg was incredibly visible, so probably congratulations are in order somewhere in a tree in my yard.

The ticks have been plentiful, but so have the flowers. Again the Magnolia bloomed, something that took years. Two foxglove came up as well as a group of Sweet Williams in the back. The clematis and the rhododendron planted on either side of the pergola are doing well. The many, many gladiolas were dislodged because the skunk is convinced I bury skunk gold under any plant I place in the fenced-in garden area. I’m doing container gardening closer to the house this year so the plants are okay, the corms, not so much, but a few have sprouted.

I (finally) had a “goosh” toward writing again. I’d rearranged the biography bookcase which also holds poetry, plays, and short story collections and found a book I thought might be better grouped with King’s “On Writing” and Goldberg’s “Writing Down to the Bone.” I started to read it and was pulled into the “atmosphere” of Eudora Welty. And while reading, “One Writer’s Beginnings,” I went, “Aha, I see what you’re doing. I do…what I do. I want to study what you’re doing.” I doubt that explains what I’m getting at, but it was a glimmer after a lot of…indifference? Impatience? Irritation? with the entirety of literature for some time now.  It felt hopeful. The musical and the possible novel still clunk about my head with heavy characters wanting to preach about things and I have no desire to spend any more time with them than you do so they aren’t being written. I’ve not jotted anything but notes since I read the first 13 pages of Welty’s memoir either, but I’m editing and that is something.

Because of how life shook out, I am going to two “big year” high school reunions this year. I went to one already. At the alumni dinner, the person sitting next to me was not only the class spokesman, but the guy I am never allowed to talk to. I did once. In art class. It was about borrowing titanium white paint. Afterwards, I was pushed into a wall in the girl’s bathroom and threatened with a class ring to my teeth if I ever spoke to him again. Good times – and the reunion was a fun way to remember that history, so yes, I will pour another Tune Infused Seltzer and drink  until my brain latches on to something else to think about. I mean, I can’t wait for the next reunion, you know? Memory archeology is fascinating with its layers.

What are you up to? I hope your answer is staying hydrated and in the shade if not in AC. The heat dome over the country about to celebrate with fireworks and drinking is the perfect recipe for a lot of avoidable death and mutilation, so happy birthday ‘merica. You really need to grow up now. Act your age. Recognize patterns. Fix yourself. Rebalance those scales of justice.  Recalibrate the three branches of government. You’re a mess, America and honestly, I’m a little ashamed of how you’ve been acting lately. You know better. Act like it.

I mentioned those preachy characters I don’t want to write, didn’t I? See how they are – slipping into my post like that. Tsk. I’ll go talk to them, you go refresh your drink. I hope you stay safe and as happy as possible – not only for the fourth, but until next time.

Thanks for stopping by and for the read! Cheers to you and yours.