Wednesday felt like a Monday. I can’t explain that. Three years downstream from my decision to retire, at a point in my life when every day should “feel” about the same, yesterday vibrated like some sort of beginning.
I never did figure it out. And it was an unremarkable day.
I hadn’t been off The Mountain since Sunday. It was time to run a short handful of errands — post office, Harps, smoke shop, bank. When I finished in Yellville, I came home the long way, east on US 62, south across Crooked Creek below Flippin.
I wanted to spend a little more time under a picturesque sky.
At the creek, the scene was typical of late August. When the state wildfire-danger map looks like this…
…Crooked Creek at the Flippin bridge looks like this:
We had a little rain late Tuesday, actually, and a little more overnight. Not enough to end the dry spell, but at least it was something.
We’ll get relief from the heat over the next two weeks. I see only a few 90s in the forecast. No 100s. Most nights will be in the low 60s, some in the 50s.
I spent some time with the passionflower vines yesterday afternoon — hundreds of buds, in various stages of blooming.
This one (below) is farther along.
Nothing lasts forever, of course — even these aptronymous flowers can exhaust their capacity for passion.
In that image, notice the passionflower vine’s tendrils wrapped around the stalk of the willowleaf lettuce plant — that’s how it climbed toward the light and hung on.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable