Some people have well-oiled machines …

Somehow, the late color is more poignant, causing an unexpected strike of longing, or melancholy…

It’s been a difficult week …

I worked my way around the edge of the driest bed, choosing sunlight, while other areas sat in thick dew, dripping, arrested still in damp conditions…

Rain, then fog, then partial clearing…

The blue jay was persistent, its sharp call stabbing through the drizzle, as I scrubbed the mud room, removing mildew from a long forgotten corner where ski boots thrown and left to die were now in my cross hairs…

The car in front of me & the tour bus in front of them were on our way up the gap, or so we thought…

The mower blade hit the rock, protesting as it did, causing me to jump, then twist…

The flowers are so prolific right now they don’t know what to do with themselves…

Visiting an old friend, someone you haven't seen for over ten years, can bring odd forms of illumination, solace and puzzlement…

The rain has spoiled a lot…

I was scraping moss from a rock when the first crack of thunder, followed by a not-so-distant arcade of lightning flashed its warning, signaling me .. to do what?

Passing by a bucolic summer institute on my way to work, I feel a pang at the casual attitude of all the expensive cars, littered in groups, on neatly trimmed acres of well cared for lawn…

It saturated the thirsty soil and refilled the rivers…

Never sure where I'll end up, but today, it was "Mrs. Chatfield's Farm"…

Water…

The day was a scorcher, & the second day in a row I'd had to throw food out the truck window…

I rarely throw food out the window, but I did, feeling bad as I did it…

I know it's a bad habit, this trying too hard…

The blueberry muffin from the day before was still where I'd left it, in the tray where I keep a small writing pad for important thoughts I may soon forget…