It's dinosaur season. Mornings on the farm are misty and mysterious. As the days get shorter and the nights linger longer, that shape in the foggy distance could be anything, and often is a fox or a baby deer or a calf hidden in a tuft of grass by his mother.
My friend Noelle named dinosaur season one morning six autumns ago, when she and Karen and I were going out to catch horses in the field. In the pre-dawn of a 7 am meet foxhunting day the fog was so thick that we could barely see our feet, much less the horses. The horses became suddenly visible only when we were right on top of them, and then they were as surprised to see us as we were to find them. They were our dinosaurs, emerging from the eternal mist. Dinosaur season is short-- soon the nights will be even longer and the days shorter, and the hunt will meet later in the morning to account for the dark and the dropping temperatures.
For now, though, I really love my misty early mornings. So quiet and soft that they could have happened in almost any era, and yet so close and insular that they hold me in this moment. Later, as the fog burns up and we gallop through the valley, the dinosaurs are gone and the modern is visible in the forms of shiny cars and big rigs. But the mist lingers as a sort of meditation in my mind-- a beautiful way to start the day.
And here are some lovely virtual flowers for my equally lovely mother, whose birthday is today. These are the last of the summer blooms from our farm share, and the marigolds smell so good I can hardly stand it. Their scent lingers on my hands (much more pleasant than garlic-linger, don't you think?) and I wonder why someone doesn't make eau de parfum de marigold. Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you very much.
1 comment:
You old sweet "gore," thanks for my virtual flowers, and for making me the luckiest of moms, to have you for my very own daughter. I love you, love you so. Mama
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