Marking Time

We don't have many deciduous trees that change color here in Northern California. - we leave that to the East Coast as a consolation prize for having to live with snow. Mostly we mark the seasons by how brown the hills are. If they are green, it's winter. If they are brown, it's every other season. The seasons are often marked by my local Target store. If the back-to-school supplies are sold out and the winter coats are being put on display, you can be pretty sure it's the middle of August. If they are starting to sell bathing suits, it must be February.

Luckily for me, I have two oaks or chestnuts or something right across the street that are a constant reminder of what is to come courtesy of Mother Nature.




These trees always seem to be a few weeks ahead of me - they know what's going on season-wise way before I do. Just when I get so tired of dreary, gray weather in winter, I'll notice tiny green buds on these trees and feel the rush of excitement that only spring can bring. Yesterday afternoon I was out front talking to a neighbor and noticed a tinge of red on some of the leaves and felt the pang of summer ending and the roller-coaster that is fall and the holiday season beginning.



Real life is coming people - ready or not.

On this date: In 1977, The Police played their first gig.