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.