Not only did the cricket sing last evening, but when I went out later, there were frogs croaking. The hounds of spring must be especially eager to be on winters traces this year. I'm no longer thinking about iced tea, though. I'm thinking about ice cream. I have none, of course. If I can resist the urge until Thursday, it will be raining again. Then I can settle for hot chocolate. It's much more easily acquired. In any case, it has cooled off a bit as the night has worn on. The crescent moon has risen, unencumbered by clouds tonight, but a bit yellow, as though a bit of haze had come up. Right now, I think, maybe just a tiny bit of apple butter on toast, good in any season.
I'm very fond of this doorway, though the modern light fixture is somewhat jarring. I'd bet that, originally, it sported some sort of wrought iron fixture with colored glass in it, as was common in the tonier Los Angeles apartment buildings of the era in which this place was likely built. Still, a very nice doorway.
The cat went up on the roof tonight. She hasn't done that in ages. Faux spring has gotten to her, too.