You awaken to skies that would make an impressionist painter feel like dancing, the late summer music of Canada geese singing in unison as they fly up from the river and out into farm fields to feed. This year's progeny are singing loudest of all up there in the great blue bowl of morning, and their pleasure amplifies your own as you stand watching and listening in the garden with your mug of chai, your eyes shielded against the rising sun with a sleepy hand.
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 on the surface. No need to panic, it's not an early autumn, just the dry heat of August setting the first leaf people free to ramble.
If only (you muse to yourself) you could actually paint a sky as magnificent as this one. You can't, and the camera will simply have to do - what the lens manages to capture, the person (you) holding it notwithstanding, is absolutely sumptuous. Sky blue, rose, gold, violet and scarlet lodge in your wandering thoughts, and on the way home, you consider hauling out your potter's wheel, throwing a whole bunch of clay bowls and glazing them in just those perfect colors. Emaho!