Thursday, the eleventh of January

Even if it looks like the dead of winter, it’s in the mid-sixties for my morning coffee muses.

The real problem with these unending overcast mornings… It makes it much to easy to roll over in bed and sleep another hour or two. The light streaming in through the window shades never seems to change. It just keeps looking like just before sun up all morning long. And here lately, right into the afternoon.

It’s cool enough out here, that if there was any breeze at all I’d need more in the way of clothes. Right now shorts and a tank top works just fine. The grass has even taken on that winter tan color that means we’ve arrived in the underside of the seasons.

It’s always been amazing to me how it’s in winter that our bird population soars, in more ways than one. Not only is my backyard full of little birds, but, as you drive around, their are raptors everywhere. They sometimes line the power lines, one on every other pole, or sitting on the line itself. That doesn’t even count the shore birds at the coast, or the cranes down around the refuge.

I will admit, my mornings out here on the back porch manage to keep my mind off the idiot in the White House… mostly. And before I jinx the day…. ah, bluebirds come cooing their sweet song to pull me back from the trumpian brink.

Maybe all of the cool weather we are having, and should have again, will bring some apples this year. They are never very big, and they are more tart than sweet, but they do show the grand kids where apples come from. A d, I so love the blossoms.

My coffee cup is empty. Time for a refill.

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