From the kitchen table, I can see Buddy's sweet little face, his chin resting on the arm of the couch where he lies. He's looking out the window, drifting in and out of sleep. For a moment, I wonder what he wonders. Does he have any need or desire to look beyond this perfect moment? Or, is he just basking in the goodness that's life?
We were up early this morning, around 4:30. A light rain was coming down and dripping off the eaves as I stood under them watching Buddy watch for movement in the dark beyond the gardens. One morning we startled a doe and her two fawns as they made their way through the yard, stopping to munch on some greenery still growing on a trellis at the far end. A few days earlier, she had defiantly walked right past Buddy as she retrieved her wayward youngsters who had stopped by to help themselves to a few fallen apples. Sensing an attitude, he had repaired to the porch where he quietly watched as they walked down the driveway together, one of the fawns stopping long enough to greet a rabbit by the gate. Perhaps, this morning, he is recalling that interesting things can happen when we least expect them.
Last night, while dark settled in, I left the house and walked down the road towards the cabin to watch the full moon as it rose over the neighbor's field. The sky had suggested rain earlier, but it had blown over and the moon was shining down on the leaf covered road. As I watched it rise, something written by Wendell Berry came to mind:
And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles, no matter how long, but only by a spiritual journey, a journey of one inch, very arduous and humbling and joyful, by which we arrive at the ground at our own feet, and learn to be at home.
My photos: The old chicken coop with attached shed and the bicycle in the fall woods, which was resting there when I arrived.