I went out and got my head partly shorn. Hair no longer tickles my ears. That's better. The rose bushes need shorn, too. They are full of dead flowers I've never gotten around to removing. I've actually been enjoying the sight of the dried blossoms. They suit my mood. Sooner or later I'll have to cut them, though, so new flowers will grow. But I am filled with reluctance.
I did get the few oak leaves which had already fallen cleaned up, and a bit of watering done. In the dry air, the dampness form the watering vanished in only a few minutes. The day insists on being itself. Its arid serenity seems incongruous with the air of uncertainty that now prevails. I watch the few puffs of drifting cloud. They have nothing to do with me.