An early-July day in my part of the planet

On the east-facing porch at 7:30 a.m. it's 78 degrees, but forecast to climb into the 90s before the day's over. I've been up since 6:30 this Sunday morning.

Noisy crows--
are they agitated
that their habitat's gone,
replaced by roads
and houses-under-construction?
Me, too.

While I read in the state paper about ISIS versus religious freedom, and the Clinton-Lynch meeting, I stop and realize that my part of the world is quiet. The only sounds are crows to the north, dogs to the south, trains beyond Benton, and the ubiquitous traffic--perhaps headed to early church.

The old cat lies on a porch rug looking over his domain--which is Couchwood's acre. Above him, the flag waves back and forth in the breeze. I sit nearby on the 2nd-or-3rd-or-4th porch swing on this 84-year-old house. The windchime, another peaceful sound, adds to the serenity.

Too early, at 8:00, to prep for a 10:30 choir- call time, I--in gown and duster--sit out while it's still cool.
Oh, I could be pulling grass from the zinnias, but don't want to get dirt under my fingernails (which I filed last night waiting for the computer to boot up [it never did, alas]). Pulling grass, grooming other spots in the yard will have to wait till later tonight around dusk.

I saw on Facebook a "memory of 1-year-ago" which showed my sidewalk project only half finished. Did it really take over a year to complete? (Does Facebook ever lie?)

The sun now shines on the swing, and I move to mid-porch in the shade of a column holding the roof. But before I settle in, I take and post a photo of new coneflower blooms.

Another note of news: In predominately-Buddhist Burma, extremists are persecuting Muslim Rohingyas, a minority.
By nine, the temp has risen, even in the shade, so I head inside. The crows are still noisy. In the yard, tall, yellow blooms of lance-leaf coreopis wave in the breeze, despite repeated mowings of the culprit. "Ha-ha-ha," they seem to say. "You can mow and dig all day, but WE are here to stay!" Okay for now, I say back to them. But just you wait. By Saturday, you'd better be gone or hidden.

After church, a lunch of chicken salad, Cheetos (for "bread," don't you know) and lemonade, then a nap, I return to the Sunday papers.

By 11 p.m. after buying a PDF Suite for the Vista computer so I can access the book-in-progress manuscript, I work on the BIG PUZZLE until midnight. Only three words left to fill in.

And so ends a day in the life of a person who turns 80 years old on Saturday.

[Written July 3 2016 ]

The Couch siblings sans Thurman, July 5 2015