A walk just after sunset

Returned, late, from my last walk of the day. Sky looking like an early French Impressionist painting at the edge of the Bois de Boulogne. I felt like an Impressionist walking in the evening mist.

Virga dropping from low clouds. Every color in the sky from grays and pinks to green flashes and blue where the clouds hadn’t reached though half-an-hour past sunset.

The middle portion of my exercise lap along the fence line drops down to the level of the bosque del Rio Santa Fe. On an evening like this one, all you can small is the perfume of the few Russian Olive trees flowering, scattered through the bosque. It could be overwhelming to someone who hasn’t had their senses wrapped in the richness of that wild perfume before. Sometime before this evening.

Such a lovely way to finish with daylight.

Live frite or die!

“We’re going after Virginia with your crazy governor. … They want to take your Second Amendment away. You know that right? You’ll have nobody guarding your potatoes.”

— President Trump, to farmers assembled at the White House

I am a potato guardian. This is the only life I have known. Here is my tale, one no doubt familiar to you, just as the concept of a person who guards potatoes in Virginia is familiar…