Why?
I don't know.
Except the melancholy started with me thinking about Zion National Park. I do not care to elaborate.
Around noon I decided to become one with nature, such as it is in these parts of the planet, and walk in the shade under the giant old oak trees in the Village Creek Natural Historic Area.
The Village Creek oak trees always cause me to ponder all that those old trees have seen. Some of them likely date back to looking over a thriving Indian trading village with fields of corn and pumpkin patches.
Some of the Village Creek oak trees were likely providing shade the day the Texans arrived to issue their primitive eminent domain demands via lethal projectiles flying from firesticks.
I had not been back to see Village Creek since the rains of Friday. Enough rain had fallen that a dribble of Village Creek water was making it past the dam/bridge that leads to the bayou.
I was quite surprised to look at the formerly totally dry Village Creek Bayou today to see that it has been recharged with a lot of water. I don't know why Village Creek is running at a dribble pace, while the Village Creek Bayou appears to be full.
Walking amongst the tall oaks put me in a better frame of mind, sort of. Lunch, with made from scratch pico de gallo, totally revived me.
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