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And suddenly, the wind turns a corner and the desert slides into autumn -- the days not scorching (enough not so I can walk about the neighborhood at high noon, the way TBD wants, and not mind it for the first ten minutes) and nights crisp enough the cooler Must Go Off.
-=-
Speaking of the toddler, I am amused to note that while TBD's too young to have any use for origami, last week we discovered that paper airplanes are Way Cool. Even to the point of fetching and returning one to me, somewhat crumpled in the handling, for another flight, until it no longer flies so much as flutters.
The patience to wait for me to fold a new one, not so much.
-=-
There is a colony of leaf-cutter ants under our front yard, with tunnels that seems to extend the entire width of the property. In the last six weeks, it has opened and abandoned eight different entrances, and since none have been active the last couple days (not since TBD went Godzilla on the last hill) I can only assume its underground territory us much larger than I know.
Most recently, it had two entrances at once: one entirely a hill for depositing excavations from below, with never an ant passing the crater's rim, the other a foraging portal with barely any scree but much activity.
-=-
Oh, hey, managing to post on a Wednesday -- memeday. Still poking at Poems of New England, and am about halfway through The March North by Graydon Saunders. An interesting example of using a first person narrator to minimize the tensions centered on personal conflict.
---L.
Subject quote from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Profrock," T.S. Eliot.
Speaking of the toddler, I am amused to note that while TBD's too young to have any use for origami, last week we discovered that paper airplanes are Way Cool. Even to the point of fetching and returning one to me, somewhat crumpled in the handling, for another flight, until it no longer flies so much as flutters.
The patience to wait for me to fold a new one, not so much.
There is a colony of leaf-cutter ants under our front yard, with tunnels that seems to extend the entire width of the property. In the last six weeks, it has opened and abandoned eight different entrances, and since none have been active the last couple days (not since TBD went Godzilla on the last hill) I can only assume its underground territory us much larger than I know.
Most recently, it had two entrances at once: one entirely a hill for depositing excavations from below, with never an ant passing the crater's rim, the other a foraging portal with barely any scree but much activity.
Oh, hey, managing to post on a Wednesday -- memeday. Still poking at Poems of New England, and am about halfway through The March North by Graydon Saunders. An interesting example of using a first person narrator to minimize the tensions centered on personal conflict.
---L.
Subject quote from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Profrock," T.S. Eliot.