Mild

This evening the clouds slathered the sky with the setting sun's light from far south to the northwest, and at least twenty-five degrees up from the horizon. The whole vast swath was washed in shades of tangerine and persimmon. It made my mouth water. The air was fresh, too, as the day had been warm enough to deter anyone from lighting a fireplace. I was able to sit outside and listen to the chorus of frogs, and watch the sunset fade, without having my nose assaulted by harsh wood smoke. In fact I half expected to catch a whiff of spurge laurel, but there was none. Any day now, though. An early spring seems inevitable.

The night is so mild that Portia is still outside, probably stalking birds in their nests. Once spring really arrives she'll probably want to spend most of every night outdoors, and I'll have to listen for cat fights that need to be broken up. Unless, of course, I'm willing to put up with a cat meowing at me every few minutes because she wants to be let out. Ah, the joys of feline companionship!