It is a rainy morning. It rained much of the night, after a glorious Saturday for an open-air wedding at the farm; a glorious Sunday, for an open-air brunch and unwrapping of gifts, and for clean-up. There is nothing we could change that would have maDe it better. I have a daughter married. They shall head towards Montana today. I head to work. Wet street. Grey skies. Headlights. Trees have turned, flaming. Leaves are falling. Yesterday fourteen sandhill cranes circled right above where we were gathered for brunch in the yard at the farm - circled to gain altitude there, a pledge of health and wellness and fullness and harmony to those beneath them. Up they climbed, their shadows coming across us two times, three times. The crough-crough'd and flew off. Good fortune for the newly-weds; health and happiness for the rest of us too. North of Five Corners, a field of soy beans has been taken. There are more fields to be harvested still. Near the Union Street turn-off south of Ripon, there is haze hanging in the woods to the northwest. On Watson Street in Ripon, I can tell already - soon it will be dark for this drive to work. Sooner than one would wish. And dark on the drive home. Hear the footsteps. Feel the shadow of the hands of time.
Comments