Tales from the Garden

What will happen? This question is like a looping track in my heart and mind a lot of the time these days, even though of course it has no answer, no matter how much it plays.  So I find ways to stop it for a while by doing simple chores, being out in the garden, listening to music, watching the sunrise and sunset, and petting the cats.  And every moment that the track loop is off is a chance for me to live in the now, which feels much better than anyplace else.  But yet, there's just no way to get around the knowledge that there's a severe storm on the horizon and growing closer.  Knowing that it will arrive in 2 months, it's natural to want to prepare for it somehow rather than simply stew in my fear and anxiety.  But the most difficult thing about preparing for this storm is that, unlike a weather event, plywood can't prevent the damage and bulldozers can't clean it up afterward.   So despite my loathing for the Project 2025 "Mandate for Leadership"...

November has rolled around again, and this year it sure is a doozy, eh?   But putting my election day emotions on hold for a minute, I'm contemplating this:     In autumn, nature's palette is distinctly different than any other time of year, and I long to spend hours drinking in the beauty.  But alas, too many other things fill my days, and my thirst for time off from my "regular life" only grows.  Each morning when I awake, I see the brilliant sunrise with a crisp edge of frost making the leaves rain down from the Jujube and Apricot trees, and at day's end I see the golden angle of the sun beaming through the chartreuse and yellow leaves of the Cottonwood along Arivaca Creek.  In between, there are lists and chores, and distractions galore.    If I'm lucky, some of those distractions include butterflies and bees, flowers and birds.  If I'm not, they include politics and conflicts, anger and sadness.  And no matter what, e...