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 tea, eyes shielded from the rising sun with a sleepy hand.
Unseen 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 and briefcases heading downtown to another day at their desks.
On our morning walk, we (Beau and I) paused by a neighbor's fish pond to watch the white and scarlet koi finning their way around in circles. While there, we noticed that 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 summer heat setting a few leaf people free to ramble.
I would be a happy camper if I could paint skies like these, but I can't and the camera will have to do. What my lens "sees" is absolutely sumptuous though, and I am contented with my morning opus. Sky blue, rose, gold, violet and scarlet lodge in my wandering thoughts, and on the way home, I find myself thinking about throwing a bunch of clay bowls and glazing them in perfect sunrise colors. Such exercises are beyond my old fingers these days, but the thought lingers.
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