Webbed

Perhaps it's letting the lawn go dry in summer that allows it to fill with spiderwebs. The afternoon sun reveals them to me as I look out my window—little spots of silky gray vagueness everywhere, shot with light. I find them to be visually a pleasant addition. The dry, brown grass looks rough and spiky, and the spiderwebs soften it. I don't know what would become of the spiders and their webs if I began watering the lawn again. I do know that I no longer walk across the grass in summer, so not to crush the unseen arachnids and destroy their handiwork. The webs are one of summer's compensations, and I manage to spend a minute or two looking at them every afternoon.

Another compensation is the peaches from the little tree by the driveway. The first of this year's surprisingly large crop are ripe, and quite a bit better than any of the mediocre fruit we've been getting from the markets. The birds are even happier about them than I am. I expect about half the crop to be pecked. I'll leave some on the tree and trim the peck marks from the others. Time to buy some cream.

This evening there was an hour or so of hot breeze from the north. I thought it might continue or even pick up a bit more, but it hasn't. There are bound to be some nights of hot wind soon though. We get a few every summer. I don't mind an occasional night of invading desert air, but I prefer the delta breezes that bring the coolness of the ocean.

Still vegetating.