I’m not waiting any longer. There’s an hour to go before the Central Time ball drops. But my laptop is down to 20%, the fair and industrious Trudy has long given up the ghost, Miss Izzy is catatonic under my AHIHA hockey jersey, the Zyrtec is having its side-effect, and so let’s do this. One last fish for 2023.
The Red Oaks know their time. Their burgundy leaves turn brown and fall to the ground.
In the brisk wind last week, I raked leaves into ever-metamorphosing piles, gathered them up, took them into the back yard, mulched them with the mower, and dumped them onto this year’s new compost pile. A day later, the center of the pile was hot in spite of it being baby-it’s-cold outside (in a Central Texas kind of way).
Today is far from cold. The sun is shining, and the sky is blue. It’s too warm for a sweater. A good day for a swim.
In the sun, wasps and bees and manifold flittering insectoids are happy with the wildflower blossoms that persist even with the fallen leaves all around. The wildflowers don’t seem to particularly care about time, hanging on as long as the pollinators hang around.
Happy New Year.