Bluebird Days, Coyote Nights

The days are perfect.  Sunny, bright, warm, cloudless blue skies.  The almond tree has started putting out blossoms.  How ironic that everyone I know watches every weather report, hoping for rain.  There isn't enough snow pack in the mountains to get us through the summer without drought conditions.  Driving on Bucks Bar, there are bridges over the middle and north forks of the Cosumnes River and it is apparent that the level has already dropped considerably.  We could be in for a world of hurt here.

Instead of working outside on such pretty days, I'm still in the throes of cleaning out The Black Hole.  How is it that cleaning makes such a mess?  I have been the recipient of others' cleaning efforts, adding to my own stuff.  "Now what shall I do with these odds and ends of yarn that I'll never use?  Oh, I know who will take them!," and, silly me, I did.  I've consolidated a lot, and I do mean a lot, but I still have to find more room.  Stacks of paperwork must be gone through and sorted, some to pitch and some to keep, but where?

The coyote pack has been on the run just after dark, yipping and howling in the night.  The beastie boys are using Gray Rock like a freeway, sometimes coming through my front pasture on their way up the cut behind Dennis's place.  They are loud enough to drown out the television and, if that weren't enough, Bessie Anne joins in.  I'm glad all my animals are in and safe.

Frank just wasn't himself the other night and I got worried about him.  Cats tend to go off by themselves when they are sick, and he definitely didn't feel well, hiding away downstairs and not coming up even at bedtime.  At least he was in the house.  I wasn't sure what I'd find when I went down there in the morning, but he got up and greeted me and that was a good sign.  By nightfall, he was back to his old self and we both felt better.

It's daybreak.  Not a cloud in the sky.  Darn.