Ah, we are finally in Autumn. Humidity has crashed and mornings are crisp but not frosty. And, finally, leaves in my part of the People’s Republic have begun to turn.
It’s interesting to me that they seem to be changing color
only in patches on trees, not swathes. I don’t recall this pattern in years
past, but I find the reds and golds blooming amongst the vibrant green of a
tree beautiful.
And that’s today’s gratitude.
©2026 Bas Bleu
Went out the other morning and saw distinct signs that there’d been a probably life/death struggle literally at my back door.
I know that’s how Nature works, but I am glad I didn’t witness it.
©2026 Bas Bleu
This may look like a mundane stretch of trendy 2020s commercial pedestrian design to you, but it’s actually the last resting place of scores of spotted lanternflies.
I noticed them on my way to the Korean bakery last week. I have no idea what about this environment has caused the scourge of Northern Virginia to die in their dozens, but their corpses littered the sidewalk all the way to the street.
Considering the damage they do and how hard it is to eradicate them, I this seems like a good
start.
©2026 Bas Bleu
Here’s my gratitude today: on one of my walks last week, I noticed a bright, tiny movement right at the edge of my vision, so I stopped.
It was this:
How could I fail to be grateful for that?
©2026 Bas Bleu
Dunno about you, but this bee loaded down with pollen makes me so happy.
©2026 Bas Bleu
Saturday night was one of those not-going-to-get-any-sleep affairs; I eventually nodded off at 0400; woke up at 0500; got back to sleep; eventually just got up at 0845. Naturally, that means that yesterday morning pretty much started out crap.
I got dressed for walking and
realized that the windows
had fogged over, which portended my walk would be complete soup. (Android said
that it was 74F and felt like 74F, but it lied; it felt ghastly. For one thing, my glasses fogged up as I stepped outside.) But I decided
I’d at least walk over to the one remaining pie-plate-sized
hibiscus shrub to take a picture for a neighbor.
And look what I found on my
way:
I saw them because I took a different
route than my normal walk, so I don’t know how long they’ve been there. But
they were stunning, beautiful and exuberant. And they lifted my day into
bearable. For that I am grateful.
©2026 Bas Bleu
Seems like I post annually about how much I love crape myrtles. Because they are truly something I rejoice in; have done ever since I was a child.
So today my gratitude is for this beauty that looks like it’s swaddled by a shrub. Just popping out of the sea of green like a breaching orca in an excess of joy.
©2026 Bas Bleu
With all the crappiness surrounding us these days—mostly man-made—I was filled with joy and gratitude to peek through the trees around the (man-made) ponds on the former corporate HQ campus and current construction site of absolutely hideous townhouses selling for $1.2M and discover my old friends the sacred lotus blooming.
Those ponds were completely
drained a couple of years ago, and I was so worried about the flora and fauna
that were part of their ecosystem. The snapping turtles were rescued and
relocated somewhere; I haven’t seen the blue herons. But the lotus gives me
hope.
A definite reason for
gratitude.
©2026 Bas Bleu
Between SCOTUS and the Virginia Supreme Court, both the law and enfranchisement had a bad week last week.
I mean—ugh.
So I’m turning to Nature today for my gratitude, and boy,
does she deliver.
Just—have some irises:
©2026 Bas Bleu
Today I am grateful for the poetry of Spring—all the colors that envelop us as Nature throws off Winter’s coat.
I’m grateful for brisk temperatures for my morning walk, as
well as the lack of humidity.
I’m grateful for overnight rain that clears up before I go
out.
I’m grateful for the birds who sing and the foxes running
across the golf course.
Is there any better way to start the day?
©2026 Bas Bleu
I try to be aware of my environment when I walk. I listen to the sounds around me and look side to side. Sometimes I remember to look up, too.
Yesterday morning, that’s when I saw this cloud activity,
driven by wind high up that we earthbounders did not experience:
I’m grateful for that ephemeral beauty and that I caught it
in transit.
©2026 Bas Bleu
On one of my walks last week, I noticed a lot of branches and limbs down. We hadn’t had high winds, but maybe the snow and snowcrete have affected the trees.
Anyway, this particular one interested me.
With the price of mushrooms being what it is, I considered
harvesting them, but I contented myself with just photographing them.
©2026 Bas Bleu
After three weeks of a four-inch crust of snowcrete on my back yard, the thing that gave me the most joy was seeing my winter aconite peeping up from the last blanket of white.
These sturdy little stalwarts never fail to raise my
spirits. They only make an appearance for a few weeks, then subside back into
the clay. But, oh, what a gift they are.
Forget the groundhog, Spring is on its way.
©2026 Bas Bleu
We had a big snow storm yesterday. Prolly about 5” in The People’s Republic, as measured by the top of the table carved out by the heated bird bath.
Sleet started dropping around 0900; by 1300 it was coming
down like steady rain.
Forecast is for days of never-above (or even approaching) the
freeze point, so I reckon I’m not getting out of here in my car for a while.
The weather also restricts my cardio workout, because no
one’s responsible for clearing the sidewalks on public streets around here, so
morning walks would be more danger than benefit. I have to wait until it
unfreezes long enough to melt and dry away all the snow.
Still—I have provisions, heat and power; at time of writing
I have detected no frozen pipes, so I’m doing really quite well.
I also have a bin of safflower seed, handfuls of which I
toss out on the patio about every hour. And the birds who’ve congregated to
tank up at the Bas Bleu Snack Bar—the juncos, blue jays, sparrows, finches,
chickadees, downies, cardinals, wrens, nuthatches, titmice and even the doves—are my
gratitude today. Because I spent hours, snuggled under an afghan crocheted by
my sister’s late mother-in-law and sipping my way through a pot of tea, just
watching them dancing in the unexpected largesse of food. (And also the
unfrozen source of water.) The sparrows, especially, made me smile, because
they were all fluffed-up little balls against the cold.
After the horror that was Saturday in Minneapolis, those birds
saved my soul.
©2026 Bas Bleu
