Today is a delight. The humidity is gone, waiting in the wings until Monday, and it is only 74˚, the high for the day. I haven’t any need to go out, but I will just to savor the day.

I woke up early because of the lawn mower. The grass was getting cut, and the deck was being blown clean just outside my bedroom window. The dogs wanted out so I went downstairs, let them out and waited for Henry to come back to the door. I let him in and went back to bed. Nala joined me. I slept two more hours. Henry went out while I was sleeping. He was still outside waiting at the door for me when I went downstairs. The poor boy!

The flowers, the clematis, covering the fence in the front yard have begun to bloom. This morning I stood to admire the white blossoms when I heard a buzzing sound. Strangely enough an Emily Dickinson poem jumped into my head. I heard a Fly buzz is the title of the poem, a title drawn from the first line of her poem as Emily didn’t title anything. Okay, back on topic, sorry for the tangent, enough with the random trivia. Anyway, the buzzing was from bees, not flies. The flowers draw bees. When all of the flowers have bloomed and covered the fence, I avoid the fence and gate because bees are everywhere though a couple of times I did risk my life and go through gate as sort of a self dare. The bees buzzed louder and a few took to flight. I ran to the house, got inside and exhaled deeply, happy I was safe.

When I was a kid, I would have roamed all day on a day like today. I’d have wrestled my bike from the cellar, made a lunch and been gone. My route changed from Saturday to Saturday, and I’d hit all my favorite spots. At the golf course, I’d hunt for errant balls, the victims of slices and hooks. I usually found one or two. I liked to stop at the train station in the next town over. I’d often sit on a bench, eat my lunch and hope to see a train. Sometimes I did. After lunch, I’d choose the rest of my route and explore.

I usually lasted until late afternoon before I headed home.