Apologies in advance for the horrible pun; I hate sports, but the sentiment seemed apropos.
This is a weird time of year. Everything should be coming back to life, but the live oak is shedding all its dead leaves in copious waves of falling brown sheets. It’s a losing battle. Even the gnome is resigned.
I worked in the yard today, in the rain. It was all by rote – muscle memory. I had to get the sprinkler heads flagged before the aerator comes. There is no longer any joy, though; it’s just the same. But in the yard, as with life these days, there are the occasional bright spots – a newness I’ve been looking for. So like the rose and the iris in the garden, I cherish the newly discovered and shared Syrah; the vibrant conversation; and the best sauerkraut and sausage I’ve ever had.