July 9, 2026

The last several nights as I’ve gone to bed, birds were singing in the dark. I can’t identify them, but they go from midnight until dawn, when the usual suspects take over. Considerable weeding in the heat of the sun, which I had not planned to do, but one foot gets set before the other. Snipped or pulled the vines that peak out at the summit of the holly wall. Rehearsal for our Saturday gig. Each time I sing these silly songs I think it’ll be the last time, but so far it has not been. My desire that we sing really well is thwarted at the very start, as the repertoire into which we have fallen does not require it.