AI. I’ve lived for over a half century in ranch country, much of that time in places where cattle outnumber humans. When I see the initialism* AI, I immediately think, “Artificial Insemination.”

Scaling back, paring down, downsizing—whatever we call it—I’ve reached that stage in life. It actually started eight years ago, when my husband and I decided to relocate halfway across the country. We knew that moving from a five-bedroom home to one with two bedrooms and a tiny office would require getting rid of a lot of “stuff.” That meant more than merely the flotsam that both of us had accumulated over the decades. It also encompassed our families’ belongings, as we’d lost all four parents in recent years and we assimilated from their estate items we thought might prove useful.

The forests in the southern Appalachians are responding to recent dry days. Although only a hint of color appears in the woods, I can smell change in the air. It makes me think of a song I wrote when I lived in North Idaho many years ago:

This morning’s walk brought, literally, a breath of fresh air. After weeks of heat and mugginess, a cold front pushed in cool temperatures and lower humidity. The wildlife I encountered seemed to appreciate the break. A doe watched over twin fawns, spots now barely discernable, as they frolicked and kicked up their heels. Raucous crows strutted and squabbled over a neighbor’s compost pile, and a couple of squirrels played grab-ass in a white oak.

“There are two types of folks,” my mother used to say. “Nesters live in valleys and on the flats. Perchers prefer hillsides and mountaintops.”

August is American Artist Appreciation Month, during which we celebrate the creativity and cultural impact of our homegrown talent. Mural is an art form, as is writing. Our local library found a way to honor both. Kudos!