Out walking Fisher this morning, a faint whiff of humidity in the air, wind from the east, might mean something.
Climbed the ridge to where I had set two scout cameras—now that we own that land (which we treated as ours for nineteen years in terms of walking on it), I can leave them up for longer times, just changing out the rechargeable batteries weekly. Sitting in slippery pine needles doing just that when there is a thump and a wet nose in my ear—back from her self-directed walk, Sheby (the collie-mix dog) has come and found us.
No good images this week.
I sit the bird feeders on top of the Jeep's spare tire and fill them with sunflower seeds. Evening grosbeaks and mourning doves wait for me to arrive.
There is that change in the air that means Late Summer, a hint of coolness in the heat, a slight drop in the sun's power. M. and I hope for a rainy weekend that will bring up some mushrooms on the fir-covered ridges. Some salvage for a summer that we just endured. And I am feeling edgy, like I want to get out of my weekly routine.