I wake up to see Bob off to work with a sleepy hug,  and then with a kiss he’s off.   Looking out the window I watch him drive into the darkness…

Lingering I gaze through the glass as morning comes.   Slow and sleepy it creeps only to be met with mist and fog.  Turning from the window I throw on a jacket to break the chill and go out to do morning chores.  As I open chicken hutches, throw scratch, and greet the geese, the haze begins to burn off and reveal my surroundings.

What awaits me is a dreamy visage of this pastoral life.

Out behind us we have new neighbors who’ve been moved in just this week.

Content to be in new surroundings they chew grass

ignoring me as I spy on them.

I turn away from the fence to go in and chance to see Little Bit entranced with something up the tree…

The chattering tells me it is a little squirrel.   The anger in its chirruping sound tells me it is none too happy about being watched so intently.

Rounding the corner of the house my gaze finds…

the garden’s scarecrow.

Standing limp and faded she gives testament

to a hot, harsh summer we all survived…

The memory of which will also fade,

when fall gives way to winter.

But for now…

The season is dry grass with a slow burn consuming the leaves of the trees.