Up early on a beautiful, face-crackingly beautiful and cool blue, bright fall morning, waiting to hear from Mom about when they’re dropping Havilah off.  We’re going to the fair.  I woke up singing “Oh My God, Whatever, Etc.” which turned into “Tennessee Sucks,” and Marshall got up (cutely offering himself for a morning hug and kiss rather than stumbling darkly around like a hibernating bear) and put Ryan Adams’ Demolition on the new TV speakers.  It’s softly playing while cool air continues to move in the living room window, while early morning sun ignites our trees and they burn green, spider web strands in the limbs shimmer and spark.  I hear one chickadee.  Yesterday at the farm, harvesting hard little multi-colored popcorn ears in the cornfield, I heard a honking that sounded like one of the V formations of Canada geese that pass overhead, now, every day, and I looked up and saw the largest blue heron I’d ever seen flying low along the trees that line the creek, flapping his great wings as slowly as the breaths I am taking now, in, and out.

 

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