Thanks for a picture that shows it exactly. 10 most annoying people you meet in airports | escape.com.au This past June, I went on a visit to my best friend in Mobile, Alabama. This involved flying from Austin to Houston, then to Mobile on a much smaller plane. …

Another summer of triple digit heat, no rain, and worries about if the water tanks will last until the fall rains. Climate change is a hoax by the Chinese to kill the American petroleum industry my neighbor says. You get lots of neighbors like that in Texas. …

Count the beats, mark the meter, deconstruct the poem. Only then will you know it, understand it. John Senior taught us well. Because I am old — A poem must have rhyme. It must have meter. Count the syllables, count the meter. Because I am old — My poems must be structured. My poems must rhyme. Or they are not poems, but…Smith and Gorman. The beauty of the words — The young poets, The beauty of the words — The emotions — The painful meanings —

Okay, the weather last week was over 90 so I dutifully put my long sleeve t-shirts in the storage bin at the back of the closet. I replaced them on the shelf with my tank tops. I contemplated putting up the felt hats and getting out the straw, but opps…

The winter in Central Texas rarely gets the white of the north or the brown and tan of the high plains. It is green all year round. The winter greens are dark. The ash juniper, called cedar around here, is dark green, shading to black until we have a frost…

A flock of migrating waxwings visited the hackberry tree on the east side of the house this morning. That was much to the dismay of our resident mockingbird. Earlier in the year, a flock of robins visited the tree and only a constant battle of dive bombing and squawks kept…

One of the current “hobby horses” for the far right is CRT, Critical Race Theory, actually an upper-level course in law schools across the country. Somehow, they have defined and promoted it as a course taught at all levels of school. This mis definition claims it is a way to…

Over the years, I have tried having a blog as I understood it. A blog was a kind of journal. You posted comments on things of importance to you and did so every day. Hum, I do get my journal written most nights before bed, but I doubt anyone wants…

As I was walking in the meadow one recent cold afternoon, I noticed an odd pattern in the dirt. At first, I suspected the print of someone’s shoe, but it was much to widely present to have been a shoe. They are tiny ditches in the layer of loose dirt…