That the third day of February should be sunny, dry, and 72 degrees is appalling. It fills me with fear that summer will be terrifyingly hot, and that a dry spring will leave the landscape brown and parched before its time. The migratory waterfowl might have the same thoughts. I've heard them flying north every night recently, their honks and hoots and quacks providing a mournful accompaniment to the croaking of the frogs. At this rate it would be no surprise to find the fire season beginning next month, when last fire season, extended beyond all reason, has barely ended.
But all that is dismal to think about. For now I have a cool night, and tomorrow will be the run-up to early Wednesday morning's moon trifecta. Last night I slept through pretty much the entire period corresponding to Wednesday morning's eclipse hours. I hope it wasn't predictive. I really want to see the blue supermoon turn red.