One of my quieter, but possibly most compulsive, obsessions is tree roots. When I disappear from humanity, I frequently pass the unaccounted for hours digging at tree roots. Sometimes I will dig up and follow a live root. Other times I attack -literally- tree stumps. When I can be bothered with names during this cherished OCD, I privately call it, "Stumping the stump." or "Stump stomping." It can take me years to stump a tree stump. Groundhogs and moles are in awe of the tenacity with which I burrow down under the stump roots while prying and hacking at the intact wood both below and above ground. After uncounted rounds of prying and hacking (meeting allot of socially unacceptable critters along the way) there comes a magic moment when the trunk springs loose. Snip, crack and he be gone. Anybody need a table top? Within minutes, I cover up the hole left behind and within hours, not even I can tell you where the stump was.

The magic moment arrived this morning for the elm stump I have been stomping since I moved in 3 1/2 years ago. Kinda anti-climactic, but... This morning found me wondering if recovery is kinda like that???? Ya fuss, cuss, moan, cry, stomp, dig and hold your breath till ya turns blue and then... The magic moment comes and ... Hm-m-m-m-m...

Just rambling... A calm, temperate day in Central Texas. These be the days that make it worth surviving the killer (literally) heat of summer.