Not close to 70 degrees (more like 40) but comfy enough to be out with an EPC Cabinet and Flying Dog Kujo Imperial Coffee Stout watching the Horned Owls getting ready for the evening.
No owls here today, heard the hoot owl a few nights ago though.
Signifies that someone is going to die...
There's been a hoot owl howling by my window now for six nights in a row
She's coming for me, I know
And on Wildfire, we're both gonna go...
They say she died one winter...
I sat in with Michael Martin Murphey a few years ago when he got booked to play at the City Hall Saloon in Cumberland, WA. I told him he needed a new agent. The City Hall is a biker bar, and Cumberland is a remote backwoods town built around an electrical substation and also provides postal services and groceries to the survivalists and meth-cookers in the surrounding hills. It's not an unfriendly place, long as you mind your bidness if you venture into the hills, but not a place I would have ever expected to encounter Michael Martin Murphey.