Since the marathon made prisoners of half this town for almost half a day, we couldn’t help but observe some of what was going on in the yard, once, that is, the hovering helicopters departed and the stupid amplified noise shut down so that it was safe to go outdoors.

The couple of gulf fritillaries, both larval and adult, were seen on and around the passion vine. The many clouded sulphurs and pipevine swallowtails (these latter are the blue iridescent ones that photographs never capture) were drawing sustenance from the Grand Primo, poet, Montopolis, and Avalanche narcissi now dotting the dormant lawn everywhere. If any butterflies went near the hyacinths, they were not observed. The whole yard is starting to smell like cheap perfume.

The mailbox is an old large-sized rural type. It’s tough to get it closed all the way, but it’s still there because it’s painted to match the sashes on the house. We noticed that, sometime after the collection of Saturday’s mail, a nest had been begun. This would be the work of a Carolina wren. Fortunately the nest wasn’t finished and no eggs were there.

I’ve heard a robin but not seen one; another member of the household has seen one, just one, over on the Huston-Tillotson campus.

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