In the Blue Bowl of Morning

You awaken to skies that would make Maxfield Parrish want to dance, the sound of geese in singing flight back to the corn and barley fields to feed, this year's progeny singing loudest of all up there in the blue bowl of morning. Their pleasure awakens your own as you stand watching and listening in the garden with your mug of tea, eyes shielded against the bright rising sun with a sleepy hand.

Setting off on an early walk with Spencer, you pause together by your neighbor's fish pond to watch the white and scarlet koi finning their way around in circles, and you notice that the first fallen maple leaves of the season have already drifted into the pool, making eddies and swirls and perfect round spirals there.

Blue and gold and scarlet lodge in your wandering thoughts, and on the way home, you consider hauling out your potter's wheel, throwing bowls and glazing them in just those perfect autumn colors. Emaho!