The B40 is covered in more and more golden flowers. There is a steady soft flutter of them, coming down from the palo verde tree, and a steady little golden road, a Yellow Brick Road, down into the mysterious kingdom of the Harvester ants. They could well have an empire larger than my own. I stare at the ground, trying to sense the boundaries of their beautifully engineered systems of pods, but the ants are opaque to me.
Mr. Teeth is bigger every day. The Spinies get to around 6-7 inches long, and he’s about there. With his new beefiness comes more boldness. He has become curious about me, and the odd things I do with the hose, and the swimming pool, and the equipment in the pool hut. I welcome his attention, and return it.
Still no sign of Orangelina.
Excitingly, we are looking forward to a lovely Blood Moon (say it like Vincent Price) tonight. I ought to have a spectacular view from Tucson, if the skies cooperate. Mars is in the neighborhood as well, and at maximum magnificence.
I think of how these events must look without knowledge of physics; two red orbs hanging huge in the night sky. What strange portent, what superstition, might brew in my mind?