This Morning

This morning I am sitting on the screen porch in an old, white wicker rocking chair. I am pretending to read, but instead find myself putting the book down to gaze at the clouds rising out of the pines. 


It rained all day yesterday & last night, and I can hear the increased volume of water in the sound of the river. I hear the summer song of cicadas, the string accent of crickets. Even though it’s 8:15, the world doesn’t seem quite awake yet, still wrapped in a blanket of mist.  


I grab my camera and set off on a morning walk, alone. Here are some of the photos I took along the way, without a single picture of the boys (shocking!), but instead a few pieces of the quiet awakening world.

 "How can you explain that you need to know that the trees are still there, and the hills and the sky? Anyone knows they are. How can you say it is time your pulse responded to another rhythm, the rhythm of the day and the season instead of the hour and the minute? No, you cannot explain. So you walk."

 ~Author unknown, from New York Times editorial, "The Walk," 25 October 1967