At first I was disheartened. Then I was simply entranced with the sky in all its twinkling stillness.
Sometimes we go looking for exotic zebras and find “only” horses. We ought not be disappointed.
I heard an unfamiliar bird call and stepped on the deck to listen more closely.
I could not place the insistent sharp whistle, but above the trees two hawks circled. Do hawks whistle? They played on the currents, banking, gliding, gently twirling. Luxuriating in what was available.
In the mid-August late afternoon, the dappled shade is lovely, soothing; the sunnier side of the deck, parched and smelling of hot rubber door mats. A cold beer blurs the edges of what seem like endless possibilities. I ponder the art of living large by living small.