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 my own as I watch them with a mug of hot stuff, 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.
In a few weeks, the early runners and commuters will be joined by village children on their way to school, and nearby streets will be filled with happy chatter again. Beau and I are happy about that - we missed seeing the kids on our rambles this summer, and we are looking forward to hearing about their vacation adventures.
On a recent morning walk, we paused by a neighbor's fish pond to watch the white and scarlet koi finning their way around in circles, and we noticed that the first fallen 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 blistering heat of August setting the leaf people free to ramble.
I would be a happy camper if I could paint skies like the one above, but I can't, and the camera's efforts will have to do. What my lens "sees" is absolutely sumptuous though, and I am content with the morning opus. Sky blue, rose, gold, violet 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 sunrise colors.
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