Is it the last breath of summer? It sure feels like it. Warm, so pleasantly warm. Still milky blue skies, but oh, that warmth!
Breakfast is on the porch and maybe you are tired of me writing this every day, but believe me, it wont last. Is it our last one? Maybe.
We must take a walk. Just to our local park. We've been there a million times, but, as Ed points out, with each month it's different. Besides, it's hunting season once again, so the wildlife trails we favor for a longer hike are not that fun. There's something offputting about bumping into people with rifles during your meditative walk. So, local park it is.
But we actually discover a new path! All these years and we never saw it. It hugs the cornfield at the outset.
Then it veers into the woods. Definitely the path less traveled.
Ed likes this, of course. I prefer the sunnier stretch. This one.
Such a gorgeous walk though. And not a soul. Not a single person on any of the trails.
(Sandhill cranes on the motorbike ride to the park: again, I know they are a repetition here, on Ocean, but I'll never tire of photographing these lovely birds. Even at a distance.)
In the late afternoon, I have another outside/distanced visit with Snowdrop. Just as I pack up a bag of books and activities, a bowl of fruits, some eggs for my daughter, I get a call.
Hello?
Yeah, about that posted notice... It's a kid. He's leaving school in Stoughton. He's seeing Cutie. He recognizes her from the posters the prospective owner had put up around town.
Are you sure it's the same cat?
Yeah. You know, like the photo you posted.
Where is she?
By the trees, on the left side of the school. She's been there for a while.
Ed is on a work call. I have my sweet granddaughter expecting me. I call my daughter. Will Snowdrop mind if I'm an hour late?
She doesn't wear a watch. Go for it.
Ed uses my smart phone to get back to his Zoom meeting, I scream the car toward Stoughton.
Seventeen minutes later we're there.
But Cutie is not.
I see the trees. I search and call all around the blocks of the school. I ask kids, construction workers, residents working in yards. Nothing.
I drop Ed off at home and go over to spend a wonderful, if somewhat late part of the day distancing with Snowdrop.
Will we continue this into the cold weather? Who can tell. One day at a time!
Toward the end, I let Sparrow chase me up and down the deck...
And in the evening, I return to an empty house. Ed's out biking. Cats are stretched out on the porch, all is quiet.
Time to bake a frittata. Broccoli and mushrooms from the Funghi Farmers. Corn, left over from Stoneman farm. And lots of cheese. Does anyone doubt that cheese, crusted under a broiler, is like a balm? A wonderful, reassuring piece of melty goodness?
Such beautiful weather here today. So very tough to read about all the pain on the battered coasts of the continent. And elsewhere.
Time to exhale. Ed wont stay awake long after biking. Ed, can we please have some popcorn?
Breakfast is on the porch and maybe you are tired of me writing this every day, but believe me, it wont last. Is it our last one? Maybe.
We must take a walk. Just to our local park. We've been there a million times, but, as Ed points out, with each month it's different. Besides, it's hunting season once again, so the wildlife trails we favor for a longer hike are not that fun. There's something offputting about bumping into people with rifles during your meditative walk. So, local park it is.
But we actually discover a new path! All these years and we never saw it. It hugs the cornfield at the outset.
Then it veers into the woods. Definitely the path less traveled.
Ed likes this, of course. I prefer the sunnier stretch. This one.
Such a gorgeous walk though. And not a soul. Not a single person on any of the trails.
(Sandhill cranes on the motorbike ride to the park: again, I know they are a repetition here, on Ocean, but I'll never tire of photographing these lovely birds. Even at a distance.)
In the late afternoon, I have another outside/distanced visit with Snowdrop. Just as I pack up a bag of books and activities, a bowl of fruits, some eggs for my daughter, I get a call.
Hello?
Yeah, about that posted notice... It's a kid. He's leaving school in Stoughton. He's seeing Cutie. He recognizes her from the posters the prospective owner had put up around town.
Are you sure it's the same cat?
Yeah. You know, like the photo you posted.
Where is she?
By the trees, on the left side of the school. She's been there for a while.
Ed is on a work call. I have my sweet granddaughter expecting me. I call my daughter. Will Snowdrop mind if I'm an hour late?
She doesn't wear a watch. Go for it.
Ed uses my smart phone to get back to his Zoom meeting, I scream the car toward Stoughton.
Seventeen minutes later we're there.
But Cutie is not.
I see the trees. I search and call all around the blocks of the school. I ask kids, construction workers, residents working in yards. Nothing.
I drop Ed off at home and go over to spend a wonderful, if somewhat late part of the day distancing with Snowdrop.
Will we continue this into the cold weather? Who can tell. One day at a time!
Toward the end, I let Sparrow chase me up and down the deck...
And in the evening, I return to an empty house. Ed's out biking. Cats are stretched out on the porch, all is quiet.
Time to bake a frittata. Broccoli and mushrooms from the Funghi Farmers. Corn, left over from Stoneman farm. And lots of cheese. Does anyone doubt that cheese, crusted under a broiler, is like a balm? A wonderful, reassuring piece of melty goodness?
Such beautiful weather here today. So very tough to read about all the pain on the battered coasts of the continent. And elsewhere.
Time to exhale. Ed wont stay awake long after biking. Ed, can we please have some popcorn?
