Friday - Ramble - In the Great Blue Bowl of Morning

Most August mornings, we awaken to skies that would make an impressionist painter feel like dancing, to Canada geese singing in unison as they fly up from the river and out into farm fields to feed. This year's progeny sing loudest up there in the great blue bowl of morning. Their pleasure in being alive and aloft mirrors our own as we watch them, me with a mug of tea, eyes shielded from the rising sun with a sleepy hand.

Below the sweeping strokes of vibrant color painted across the eastern sky are trees, hydro poles, rooflines and village streets, trucks and cars in rumbling motion, early runners in the park, commuters with lunch bags, bento boxes, newspapers and briefcases headed downtown to another day at their desks.

On an early walk this week, Beau and I paused by a neighbor's fish pond to watch the white and scarlet koi finning their way around in circles, and we noticed the first fallen maple leaves of the season had already drifted into the pool, making eddies and swirls and perfect round spirals on the glossy surface. No need to panic, it's not an early autumn, just the dry heat of August setting the leaf people free to ramble.

I wish I could actually paint skies as magnificent as these, but I can't, and the camera will have to do. That is quite all right. What my lens "sees" is absolutely sumptuous, and I am content with my morning opus. Sky blue, rose, gold, violet, indigo and scarlet lodge in my wandering thoughts, and on the way home, I think about throwing a whole bunch of clay bowls and glazing them in perfect sunrise colors.

This morning, a different story is taking shape. Rain is falling in the darkness beyond the windows, but there is a lovely pot of  tea steeping in the kitchen, and there are gluten free waffles crisping up nicely in the toaster. A candle redolent of Bourbon, peaches and golden oak is burning on the coffee table. The garden is full of birds, and they are in fine voice, don't mind the wet stuff at all.

Never enthusiastic about rainy mornings, wet grass and dripping trees, Beau has curled up on the sofa and is snoring gently. Occasionally his feet move, and his tail thumps the cushions - I suspect he is chasing rabbits in his dreams. With all the precipitation, I will not have to water the garden today, and that is a good thing.