Playing for Time

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Thunderstorms have been moving through on the regular, whether they’re in the forecast or not, and we’re metaphorically soaking up every drop because soon enough our days will follow THIS pattern:

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After that, rain’s supposed to move in again, so I’m thinking the Dove family will be getting their affairs fully in order in the coming week. The rains have no doubt delayed flight training to some extent, but we see little chicky-heads bobbing around in the nest, and small wings stretching to the limit, so preparations are underway. I turned around and snapped this shot of David and Darleen yesterday while they were talking about the babies, the day’s agenda, and no doubt their undying love for one another. Pretty sure I heard him murmur, “Time to kick these kids out and reclaim our bed, schweetheart.”

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And that’s life, the cycle goes on. Speaking of which, sorting boxes and bins held over from previous eras can be hazardous to your mental health. In emptying six households belonging to loved ones, I’ve come across a few items that have creeped me out, one of which is old driver’s licenses. There’s something about that stark moment set in the amber of time. I always want to let go of it NOW and not look at it again. That is NOT the person I knew and loved, but there they are, captured forever at their near-worst for all to see. During my recent closet purge I found one of MY old licenses, thus the evidence of trauma you may be sensing as you read. I sliced it right through the numbers, cut the strangely-hued awful portrait into Xs, and buried it. There. Not that girl anymore, moving on.

Please enjoy a luscious day.