Throw it against the wall, see if it sticks

I went out today, to the post office and the drug store drive through, to pick up a prescription. I could have gone to the grocery store for more greens and to the gas station to fill up. But some friends are using all frozen veggies and the gas tank just went below a half. 

Things change every day, for better or worse. I have plenty of frozen vegetables on hand, so the gas tank can just wait.

It was so good to go outdoors and do more than stand on the porch, breathing in and out and listening to the deafening silence. I could use the post office in the Falls; it's much closer. But I always go to the one in Peninsula. It's the one I used for years, for the township, and it feels right.

The heron was at the pond on Truxel. It was between the pond and the road.  Or, me and the pond, from its point of view. I drove to the end, turned around and slowly approached, pulling off the road. And it lifted its great wings and flew down toward the river. I pulled into the Boy Scout camp to turn around, and started slowly for the post office, scanning, scanning the pond.

And there it was, at the end of the pond. Another U-turn at the end of the road and the slow approach to the heron. As my tires sounded on gravel, up went the wings. I swear, they take off on that first graceful flap. It sailed to the head of the pond. I slowly approached. Whoooosh, it was gone. The last U-turn and off to the post office.

I chose Quick Road to drive up from the valley, and stopped at the cross country trail head to take a look. 

Away in the distance, two tiny walkers. I turned to take a picture

and when I looked back, maybe the same couple coming back. Nah.

I stopped for the mail, and had a letter from my youngest daughter. 

She sent me two masks she made. I am so pleased to have them. My sister made the yellow mask, on top, and I haven't had opportunity to wash it between wearings. So, I washed all three, because Shelly's were impregnated with her perfume, and it gave me a headache on testing it.

Then some weaving, and now it's time for supper. Another day in the books. Booooring.