It reached almost 80°F this afternoon, and—even with the time change—I can’t believe it’s March (in Michigan).

The sunshine tempted The Botanist out, where he perched on the broad redwood-board steps and surveyed his terrain—especially the garden between the lawn and the fence, and the maize-stubbled field beyond. The rich soil is now banded with weeds—need to get those turned under…tomorrow?—and think about what veggies to plant….

Today I did Botanist-work. I pruned back the main raspberry patch—well, about half the patch—stacking the canes for removal to…not sure—today’s job was pruning. The temp was about 65°F, and I may have gotten a touch too much sun on the back of my neck.

Last night….

Honest, I was walking with a group, moving along the sidewalk, crossing streets with the lights, and looked west, and snapped. No waiting for the right moment, just snap and take a couple of quick steps to catch up.

Sometimes, small things can take over your psyche. Today I’m missing my coffee-partner, drinking my coffee-milk with yesterday’s coffee, refrigerated overnight. My small thing is solved, but life is one step sideways for the present.

Hot cuppa in hand, I see the sunlight laterally grazing the maize stubble. And I’m on to the next small thing.

This is the power of weeds*; on this day, with temps reaching 51°F, one weed species (unknown to me) managed to bloom amongst the strawberry plants.

I couldn’t decide between the flower close-up (not a good photo) and the landscape (showing sky drama, but not a particularly good photo, either), for reasons that I cannot pin down. Hence, today is twofer day, and scale once again butts into my blog.

Not an hour after I snapped the flower photo, the sky became horizontally bisected; subsequently, the grey reigned and the sun abandoned us.

* Weeds are a concept, more than anything; they are culturally (socially) defined. They are plants, yes, and both species and individual specimens, that tend to grow where people don’t want them. Many people associate weeds with invaders of horticultural/farm plots, fields, and beds. But weeds can also be in your dooryard. So, I wonder if the concept of weeds originated with both sedentism and agriculture? Or just one of the two? Hmmm (meaning unanswerable).

Low light means graininess reigns.

I just had to escape the bleak grey-ness of the last two posts. Not only my mood, but the gorgeous colors in the dawn sky demanded it!

…Plus I’m wearing the over-exposed Party Skirt—which is new to this immediate geographic locale.

Beltline crossing, Clear Creek, downstream of Bot Garden, from new footbridge.

(in no particular order…)

Three bluebirds (not indigo buntings).

Five mockingbirds, up to hijinks.

One long walk.

Two kinds of tea—English (that is, black, from Ceylon, which is really Sri Lanka today), and Japanese green.

Zero great blue herons (saw one yesterday).

Ahem—nothing totaling forty. Other than four stats other than tea. Heh.

As it turned out, the best weather came and went before noon, so that when we headed out on a wee afternoon trek, we traveled under overcast skies and shivered as a cutting breeze cooled us when we strolled the banks of the Grand River. The river was unaffected, merely dark and flowing, independent of the weather we noticed with every step.

The Guru asked if the Grand River goes through Grand Rapids, and of course it does. Its mouth is at Grand Haven. Yes, Grand Ledge is on the Grand River, too. Thoughtful naming convention…?

As promised, here’s a sunrise picture…that pairs with the sunset photograph from the other day.

View from Alston overlook, Atlanta Botanical Garden, as clouds assemble.

A sunny morning turned into a cloudy late afternoon while we perambulated in Piedmont Park and the Bot Garden. We hear the festival of the lights at the latter is worthwhile (it’s extra $$, even with an ABG membership), but that was difficult to discern in daylight.

If you are tempted by Fukuyama’s Origins of Political Order (it’s already on year-end book lists), I say: skip it; don’t waste your time. The theoretical premises he outlines are drawn heavily from the field of anthropology…of 30 years ago. Hrrrumph. Stanford can do better. So can his publisher.

Moving on….

Bread recipe here.