Look! An original Jackson Pollock painting done especially for you. Note the careful splats at appealing distances. It is without comparison.
Last night the remnants of Hurricane Ike blew through. All night long, it was blamity-blam-blam-blam, bangity-bang-bang, thump, whump, ping, ping, blam. The cherry tree that hovers over the house has had a bumper crop of little cherries (in the same vein as the bumper crops of blueberries, blackberries) and the 40 mph wind gusts had them falling all night, hitting on the metal roof of the house. It was really, really hard to sleep.
When the cherries landed, they splatted and so now the side of the house is covered with little red splotches (along with the deck). Even the garage which has its own cherry tree nearby has red polkadots on the doors.
Meanwhile, one of the six rosebushes I planted this summer is thriving and has three more blooms on it.
In 1995 I planted a MacIntosh apple tree in memory of my namesake who had died that May. I never got around to planting another tree so it never produced any fruit. This year, for the first time, there are apples thanks to something pollinating it. I picked one and will enjoy it greatly.
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Far away, the son of a parishioner struggles with the remnants of Ike — he lived on a small island by Galveston and according to reports from people there, he has lost everything — his brand new business, a nursery, and his house. He is homeless without a job and no idea what to do next. And there are many, many, many more like him.
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