It's a new month,
a new week, a new day. Every moment is new.
It was a pleasant weekend, cooler, sunny. It is a sunny, cool morning today. You can't complain. Dew on the grass does what dew does. The day turns.
No wind in the flag at the cemetery. A bank of clouds to the north. The canning factory sprays water this morning north of the village, on the east side of the road. A fellow still moves dirt along the edge of the fields that have been worked up these past weeks. Farther north a field of corn shines, deep and dark.
At Five Corners the holly hocks are in bloom. They are morning glories, aren't they, those trumpet flowers on tall stalks?
A youngster is walking this morning with backpack, perhaps to summer school classes for junior high students. She is tall and languid and innocent, so innocent. We shall never get to see the world quite that way again, those of us the world has beat down, since we've learned our place. That girl doesn't yet know her place, she can dream anything.