Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family’s mixed Lab.
My mind is mush.
Much too much of a marathon of writing about the Bank of America Chicago Marathon, which is Sunday.
Mowing was my break late last evening when I realized it would be days before I had the time to do it again.
Maybe I will be lucky and it will be the last mowing of the season. Looking at the extended weather forecast, I think I just might get lucky.
Metra is where I am grabbing a few minutes to fire off this masterpiece of the meathead and me.
Mostly the meathead and I stepped lively this morning. Again little wildlife: no doves, no Canada geese, no rabbits, no herons, no kingfishers. Only a squirrel here and there.
Maples are turning enough to hold my interest, even of somebody like me who finds fall oppressive and reeking of the coming end.
Many hedge apples, dozens, have fallen on the back side of the town pond.