Sitting in the yard. Soaking up the maples before the leaves drop. In the damp of this morning the colors are extra vibrant.
The air is filled with bird calls, squirrels chasing each other.
The red shouldered hawk calls from the pecans.
Track
I love a foggy morning.
Maple
We planted five of these threes sixteen years ago.
We lost one last winter.
Sitting under these trees today as my bird friends fly to and from feels like a decent accomplishment for the last day of November...
and a day of breathing.
Log
I've been watching this log for a while. Something digs in it regularly. There are not any insects visible to the eye and very few scratch marks that are identifiable as such. I have only seen a wren on it. And yet, it continues to become more 'dirt' like each day.
An interesting mystery.
