multiracial acorns

I love the colors that acorns come in. Also, I just like acorns. I pick up one, and then I say, "Oh, and this one. Oh, this one too. Oh that one there! Gotta have that, too." I enjoy this as much now as I did when I was six with my grandmother.

And this is a great year for acorns--as for apples, as for hickory nuts. I think the fruiting trees are anxious to reproduce; I think last year's winter made them consider their mortality or something. Anyway, the apple trees are bowed down with apples, and acorns are lining the roadside.

also, two sky photos

Apologies to people who have seen these already; I posted them on Twitter.

.... I don't post identical content in all venues, but things I really like, some version of them, I tend to put everywhere (except Facebook; these days I'm just a passive lurker on Facebook). But don't ever worry about losing out.... not that you probably would? But I used to, when I realized people were posting things in venues I didn't visit. But now I've changed my mind. There's just so much. Catch what you can in the places you feel comfortable, that's what I'm thinking now.

So anyway: furrows in the celestial fields.

leaving the stove on

It should be all right to leave the stove on if I'm going to just step out into the front yard to pick some basil, probably all right to not even turn the burner to low, because it's a matter of seven long strides (if that) to the corner of the yard, where, in daytime, the basil grows, and logic and experience dictates that it will still be there even in night, even though my eyes are not adjusting that fast to the thick, thick darkness that's gotten everywhere. I can just about see the birch tree, and I duck under it.

"And I thought maybe I smelled something burning, and when I came down, the whole stove was in flames," will be what my son says when the reporters ask him about the fire that engulfed the house because I didn't turn off the stove when I wandered into the front yard and was engulfed by, or drowned or dispersed in, the dark, never to return.

So I think as I zombie walk over to where the basil should be. Then I wave my hands up, down, until they hit leaves. Then I grab some, and sniff them, and they are in fact basil! So I grab a few more.

My eyes have acclimated for the return journey, and back in the house I see I've gotten the flowering tip of one basil plant. So now this meal will have a few tiny white blossoms in it as well.

Also, the kitchen didn't catch fire, the house is whole--all is well. And now we'll eat.