"...Scarcely/ Dare we hope oak galls."

Something has given one of the hickory trees a tremendous shake, as the bark is in strips all over the ground. I gathered up some of the bark, in hopes that one day I'll get around to redoing the dolls' house, make some rustic furniture for the garden and porches.

As for Browning's poem, I've always rather identified with Brother Lawrence. He may be, as accused, a lecher and a hypocrite, but he's certainly more likable than the narrator. I think it was in China Court that an old lady said, a little hypocrisy sometimes makes for better manners.

After I passed the age of twenty-one years, I tried very hard to stop writing in books--except for textbooks, of course. But this Patrick O'Brian novel, The Yellow Admiral, tempted me beyond endurance on two pages, and I made tiny light red marks. Forgive me, J.D.

You'd think that after 15 or so books about the same bunch of characters, the author's inventiveness would wane, not to mention the reader's enthusiasm. But, to me, these O'Brian books just get better and better.

Tracy's son Aaron is out there cutting the weeds/grass again. Got to go see if I've got enough wherewithal to pay him.