All The News

Five a.m.  A thumbnail moon still hangs in the dark sky in the east, only three inches or so over the horizon.  Ready or not, the seasons are changing and we're moving towards fall.  The patch of sunlight on the wall of the milking room that moves as the sun moves tells me daily that the earth is turning.  Instead of sliding straight down to the floor, now that bright square slips around the corner into the big room.

There are a number of oh-so-pregnant mice at the breakfast buffet these days.  Just what I need, more mouths to feed.  One character I am pleased to have back is my favorite spider.  His web was damaged and I thought he was gone for good.  I'm pretty good at catching flies for the daddy longlegs.  Others take my offerings as their rightful due; this little guy gets so excited when I drop a goody on his web, racing to see and then poking to see if it is "done" before wrapping it up and putting in his larder.

Red-tail hawks apparently are monogamous.  A pair has worked this area for as long as I can remember, nesting high in the pines across the road.  I wonder if something happened to one as a single bird (I can't tell male from female) cried continuously for as long as I was in the barn and later.  Or maybe it's mating season and one was either asking or boasting.

Ralph could give lessons in joy.  He finds pleasure in the little things of life:  a paper towel, a bottle cap skittering across the floor, the sound of knickknacks falling from a shelf.  Yesterday he amused himself for the longest time with a baby grasshopper that had found its unfortunate way into the house.  Later, I removed the remains.

There's a new Thing in town.  After a long hiatus, I am once again finding items knocked onto the floor in the feed room.  The lid was off one barrel last evening, but no critter was inside.  I've not gone into the middle room to see what the extent of damage is in there.  Sometimes I just don't want to know.

As it says in the New York Times, that's all the news that's fit to print.