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Poor Little Robin, Walkin,...
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There was a song once (1952, says Google) that went
"Poor little robin,
Walkin, walkin, walkin to Missouri,
He can't afford to fly...."

It's a good song to walk to, and it was going through my head at 5:30 as I was walking around the block.

I've learned that walking--real walking--is quite different from walking on a treadmill, so I'm doing a combination of outdoor and indoor exercise, at least while the weather is hot.

My bedroom window faces east and as soon as the predawn light wakes me up (I'm phototropic, don't you know), I get up, do abbreviated morning ablutions, and get out on the sidewalk before it's too hot to walk.

This morning it was lovely and cool, with the birds all a-twitter. "A-twitter" fits them perfectly as they wake up and have to tell the world about it.

My appreciation is increased by comparing it to pre-dawn Phoenix, where the temps at that hour of the morning were already in the high 80's. L.A. will be like that soon enough, but until then, I'm going to enjoy the morning coolth.

I'm deeply grateful I don't live in the Sonoran desert. I wouldn't survive long. There's a world of difference between arid (Phoenix) and semi-arid (L.A.). The native Americans were pushed onto the terrestrial equivalent of hell, a place no one else wanted to live.

Though I must confess that there was a beauty and fascination there, and I could appreciate it when I had water and shade.

Moving on toward 7 a.m.; time to get more coffee. Have a lovely day, y'all.

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