We have reached into the 130 days of the coronus/retirement phase, whichever came first, and it is not pretty. Actually, it is. Despite the late Spring and the technical drought across southern Maine, the local foliage is green and blooming. The garden is producing cherry tomatos, cucumbers, and even green beans (the original plants were ravaged by leaf-eating bugs, maybe even viruses). Disclosure: the garden has to be watered by hand pretty much every day, container plants for sure. Zucchini or summer squash appear to be maturing.

A New Yorker commentator observed a couple months ago: The world is now just one big waiting room. I now get this: We wait for a vaccine. I wait to get into Sam’s Club. I wait to get to the waiting line at the check out register at the grocery. Even the places where we used to wait seem different. I now wait in the parking lot at the veterinarian’s office. I used to wait in the waiting room. But, the world is now our waiting room. And, with all this waiting, there are no waiters.

One place there is no waiting: my hummingbird feeder is now visited practically every few minutes. I have maintained a regular and thorough cleaning and nectar refreshing program (about every four days). A small contingent of birds are regular visitors (I am guessing 5 or so).