This morning, I’ve been doing that wandering around the yard thing with the ultimate intent of finding a guitar somewhere. Mostly, though, I’ve been getting my ankles stung with dew, a sharp, sweet, and cold sensation that is so rare in August as to be courted when
it is available. The air is clear again, crisp and fall-like, with the rising sun sending fingers of light around and through the trees. Waxing a little poetic this morning am I? Oh yes. Nauseatingly so, I’m afraid, but it is simply glorious out there…the mist rising off the pond is not typically an August thing when it is more often true that the air is helping to fill the pond.
So maybe I’ll wash the car. Or wait, maybe I’ll hope that David isn’t looking at the blog and won’t notice that I’ve used that wash-mitt-on-a-stick to make a guitar in the driveway. Then I’ll wash the car. Maybe.