Seven a.m. Just barely cool enough for long pants. Forgetting about the heavy dew, my sock clad feet were immediately damp when I wriggled them into the pair of sneakers I left yesterday on the screened porch under a plastic chair.
Foggy at this hour. I walked down to the gate to fetch the morning paper. Frothy spider webs festooned the trees. The big owl in one of the higher trees at the dip in the road bed where the springs cross under the road no longer flies when he sees me coming.
The Carolina jessamine vine on the storm bent fence at the gate has begun to bloom already, the deep yellow cups a lovely harbinger.