Incredible humility, amazing but of late.
Carolina Wren flitting about, Justin posted (text) an image of Ayla and himslef at Grandma Ferns from last spring. I want to cry, she looks like Lorien.
Two pumpkins in the patch; I need to write letters and post along, Izzabelle demanding and needing attention; I must cycle today, need the exercise to clear some thoughts and leave them along the bike trail for they are burdensome, unnecessary thoughts I've little control over. No school for me this week, to meet with Travis tomorrow and begin the teaching, learning process.
I need to read today; I need to process film today; I need to eat correctly today; I need to get to a dentist ... soon! I need to tighten bolts of the new planter; I need to level the new planter; I need to relax and allow life to happen as it should; I need not to dream of what I want to do, I need to do what I dream. I cannot wait for the list of "I need to do's", I need do them! I need to write an artist statement; I need to load the 8x10 film holders; I need to photograph the Morning Glories before they are gone and summer has ended; I need to brush Izzabelle; I need to do yard work ...
Some trees look good yet. The XX? Pear (forgot the name), leaves are glassed sun shine with reflected morning light, glistening of late spring (Bradford Pear).
A Dragon Fly overhead, dancing for a meal, hopefully mosquito breakfast, dinner and supper. It should enter into the yard closer, plenty in the greenery.
The River Birch has appearance of late summer distress, dull, flat, no value of radiance, the look of nearness of the summers end.
I need to vacuum; I need to make the bed; I need to put dirty dish in the water; sixty five before I even lived in a house with an auto dishwasher, I have learnt to use it, for meal plates, pans, pots, wood knives by hand always.
I need to find my riding shorts; I need to drink this cup of coffee; I need to begin my day ... sigh
The Goldfinch are now dancing from the feeder to the yard flowers, sit atop the flower head cones (echinacea), plucking seed to nurish their gram weight bodies. The brightness of the canary yellow of the male with the starkness of indigo black wings. A golden beak and the brightness of white tail, cloaked over the top of black, redness of the legs that grip the seed cage, suspended at times upside down. Fatten up, your journey is far yet not reached.
A breeze now banging the wind chime gong. Gong ... Gong ... Gong ... Gong it rings.
Clouds of white pulled and stretched thin, their drift of slowness allows to view. The Cicadas in the lyrical pattern to impress, the slow roll build, echoed and met by others courting. Their songs of summer for 29 years, wouldn't be if there were sounds of silence. Trills of a pair of wrens, overheard by the Cardinal. The House Sparrow now in the fray of robust chirps and the melody called others down into the undergrowth for the discovery of easy food of insects. A young fledge, "...feed me a worm, a caterpillar, a beetle, a seed, more, ...".