Tonight after dinner, my wife began a telephone call about recruiting volunteers for an organizational function, so I headed to Glendover Park with my binoculars. The purple clouds hovered far in the distance, adding much color but no threat to the evening. The temperature barely crossed 70, and a cool breeze wafted through the air. In the eastern sky, a red delta wing parachute provided loft to the ultra-light plane pilot flying it in what looked like a motorized recumbent bicycle. I gazed at a female mockingbird sitting atop a tall tree, singing the songs of many different other kinds of birds. A killdeer shouted out its call at my approach, warning other killdeer that a person roamed the habitat. I saw the pond water roil a bit, as hundreds of mosquito fish pushed from the algae near shore into deeper water. Swallows soared above the pond, sometimes dipping down to scoop up insects off the pond surface. A mourning dove sat mournfully atop another huge tree.
I passed a cottonwood tree, its fallen seed pods, tufted like cotton, giving its surroundings the look of dandelions gone wild. I passed a neighbor mulching his lawn, and tried feebly to make conversation about mulch and begonias. A huge great blue heron flew over the houses just as I neared home. My wife and I looked through my new cacti and succulents book, and she pronounced the living rock (lithops) her favorite. I got confirmation from my buyer in Hawaii that he paid for priority shipping of his box of 8 track tapes. I set out a suit for tomorrow's court appearance. I typed my LiveJournal entry, while the open financial magazine features an ad for "Accuquote", in which a pictured toddler asks "Daddy, what happens when people die?". I pause and ponder, for a moment, and then wonder to myself if one's insurance portfolio flashes before one's eyes.