Early Days....

Early days, the bittersweet stirrings of late summer and the harvest season...

Dawn skies in August are a fetching shade of violet, crinkled like crepe paper with rose and gold along their edges, high fluffy streaks of pink cloud from here to there and gossamer light touching everything with oro pallido, the pale lustrous gold that only visits the world at the beginning of day. One needs a very large brush to paint such sweeping confetti colored expanses, a wide angle lens that takes in all of the Old Wild Mother's creation.

How can one stay indoors on such a morning?   One cannot, and so Spencer and I went out to greet the new day together.  Barefoot, I sipped my tea thoughtfully, and my companion looked up at the sky and crooned softly, just as his big sister Cassie used to do on late summer mornings.   It is three years today since our darling girl passed beyond the fields we know and into the butterfly meadows beyond the bridge.

As we stood outside in sleepy wonder, thousands of geese were flying up from their night's rest on the river and out into the corn to feed - there were vast waves of joyous honking as they passed overhead and away to their breakfast in sun dappled fields. This is the music of August; this is "the music of what happens".