Wild morning glories scaling the honeysuckle on the property fence. Aren't they beautiful? The colors make me think of hummingbirds, and sparkly evening clutch purses, and royalty. They only bloom about two hours, and then they close, the trumpets spiraling in on themselves. They're all through the woods, alongside the heavy sprays of pink wild roses.
Today is the first day of fall. Breath of something earnest and Canadian in the breeze this morning, promise of frost on the leaves as they begin their slow beautiful deaths. I'm washing horse blankets; perfect day for that. While I slosh and haul, I'm thinking about the bookshelves in Mercy's apartment, and envisioning the cracked spines of the paperbacks he keeps there, spotting Tom Clancy and Salinger and an old copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales he keeps for sentimental reasons. I'm thinking about Maggie and the way she sees herself in her daughter - and is secretly glad for it. I'm thinking about Ava and what it's like to make friends when you grow up an untrusting child. And I'm also thinking about the Russells, about their world, and green waters and an undertow and thank God Navy SEALs can swim like they do.
Welcome, fall. You feed me good thoughts.
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