Copper and gold

I am sitting on my deck overlooking the field.  The wind is rustling in the leaves of a nearby poplar.  The larches pick up the song and join in.  There is the far off sound of traffic, lawnmowers, songbirds.  The sky is many hues of robin’s egg.

The field today had expanses of snow white daisies.   The last few irises still have much to show.  Tiny clusters of pink flowers add their blushing presence.   I can walk along and hold out my palm, allowing the grass to brush it, just like Maximus in his field of grain.

My lawn is freshly cut.

My loyal dog, mirror to my soul, lays at my feet, which are clad in old wool work socks to ward off the evening breeze.

My hops have reached the top handrail of the deck and look inward, planning to capture us in the night.

I am clean, combed, comfortable and content. There is a cup of strong black west coast roast at my side.

The dying sun is turning the top of the pine tree a warm golden green. The trunk of another is coppery red.

A newborn fingernail moon floats near the treetop.

I have a wonderful family and I love them.

I have hopes and plans.

Life is good.

These are my blessings, for today.

field1
The magic field of flowers and fireflies

 

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