High at over 7,000 feet above sea level, which is permanent, and dry because it’s Springtime, the most miserable season of the year. When one says Springtime above the border one thinks of lovely days, romance, the occasional shower and flowers, perhaps the end of snow. When one says Springtime where I live, we think dust and heat.
And no A-C.
Easter Week (Semana Santa) starts soon, April 4. (Correction: Actually, it starts March 28.) It normally rivals the Day of the Dead for tourists and traffic in these parts but, like the Day of the Dead last November, most of the hubbub is canceled because of the Kung Flu hysteria. No massive artisan market on the downtown plaza and no parades in the evening. This pleases me because I am neither Christian nor a fan of bumper-to-bumper traffic.
It is bad for the local economy, however, which is already suffering due to the previously mentioned Kung Flu hysteria.
The video freezes in time a few seconds from this morning as I stood on the stone sidewalk and pointed the Canon up thataway. The photo below is my very favorite yard plant, the bottle-brush tree. I don’t know what the Mexicans call it, but that’s what it’s called up north. It’s seven or eight feet tall now, and still growing. I planted it years ago when it was just a little tyke. I wish I had planted one or two more. It’s lovely, and often in bloom. The hummingbirds love it.
Though Springtime is here, it still gets chilly overnight, and we still have the wintertime goose-down comforter on the king bed, but that will come off soon, the bedroom window will stay open, and the tower fan I bought just last year will keep us partially refreshed during the nights. There is no perfect world.
Hey, did you see “President” Biden bumble through his first press conference a few days ago? I predict that will be the first and final press conference. He’ll be drooling before long. It won’t be a good look. As Trump would say: Sad.