The Greta Garbo of chickens

Chicken flees backyard paparazzi.

Oh what a terrible blogger I’ve been – dull and infrequent. Is blogging dead to me? Am I spending too much time on Facebook? And what’s with Google Plus? It went nowhere.

Sad: fox maued down three of my six chickens a couple of weeks ago. Happy: I sold the old Volvo wagon on craigslist in a few hours yesterday.

Thinking about heading over to the Deerfield Fair in rain today.

Angels preserve us, tis Michaelmas already. Summer’s goose is cooked.

Petals on a wet green bough

Hydrangea in the rain, Little River Cemetery.

I was going to get up really early and go to the gym. Instead, between 5:30 and 6:30 a.m. I had a complete dream of getting up and going to the gym, and I knew I was dreaming the whole time and just let myself do it.

I didn’t get to the gym until 8 because I was putting songs on my iPhone. I had a pretty good workout after all, but it felt late by then. The gym was filling up with the good people of Saturday and I was just like everyone else.

Storm surf

The day last week that tropical storm Katia passed to our east, surfers came down to their favorite spots on the coast. This is North Hampton.

Elemental.