Coming Soon.

New grass in the dug-up and roped-off dog-pee spot; new dog-pee spot just off the eastern corner of the ropes. Something eastern in the philosophy of all that.

The weather holds cool, jeans-cool, even yet. May twelve. They want warm end of next week. Rain first. Best to start enjoying these cool nights as the last cool nights -- there can't be much of this left.

Soon tomatoes. Soon whatever it is I can't remember from last year that reseeded in the front flowers will bloom. Soon weeding. Soon a little mulch. Soon less painting and more yard. Soon none of any of that, and ass in chair out there in the shed. Soon the new novel. Soon the one after that.

The Toad's in sentences. He's brushing his teeth. Asking questions. Becky's flowers across the street are coming in for the third time this year. First a thousand daffodils. Then a thousand iris. Now daylilies and roses and zinnias. We can't keep up. All we can do is look out the front window, tell the Toad to tell the Becky Flowers moches choches, his version of buenas noches.