Thursday, September 01, 2011

rosie in the morning

I toss in the usual morning way. Because I should be getting up soon, I am especially feeling comfortable in bed. As if staying there is the most wonderful thing, as if I could do this for hours, as if getting up belongs to another time, another place.

One eye open. I glance out the window. Ah, the mist rising last night has found a home for the morning. I can see wisps of it.

I should go out and take a photo.
You should.
I should.
Go out and get your photo. Go, you like doing that.
I should. Toss, burry into the bed. Sigh. Get up.

Maybe I should take Rosie out. There’s a lot more distance that can be covered in case the fields just next door aren’t at their morning best.

We head east on the road. Nice!


The farmhouse is maybe a mile or two from a lake. I tell Rosie – we’re going to the lake!


Oh, really, if I could paint, I would, right here, right now.


Slowly we head back, doing a small loop back to the farmhouse. And now the fields of corn are so golden, so perfectly Septemberish.


The sun has broken up the ribbons of foggy air. But a few strands remain. Rosie and I pause and watch. How can you not.


Back we go to the farm.

It’s going to be a warm day. I’ll get going soon enough, but first, a few more minutes in a morning sleep, replaying the images from the morning ride.