Saturday, August 30, 2014
The windows on the camper are open and the night is alive. The breeze through the window carries the hurried pace of Jones Creek as it races to the Caddo River, a sound often drowned by the chorus of baritone frogs, the katydid percussion section and a soprano of unknown origin. The air is heavy and thus the morning will grace all of the fauna with a drink before the onslaught of old man Sun.
The mixture of sounds in this night air are at once cacophonous, and quiet. But there are no whirring tires on pavement nor sirens screaming for attention.
The day has found enjoyment in cousins and in the war on privet. In that I know that I can win every battle without ever winning the war. It has been a good day.
The morning broke with the pitter and occasional patter of drops on the camper roof from accumulated mist. It’s a wannabe rain in perhaps 70 degree air. The chorus of frogs and katydids has given way to the symphony of birds enjoying the cool, moist morning. A light fog hangs over the Valley as viewed to the East over the mirror that is the swimming hole, only occasionally pock-marked with an errant drop of moisture. It’s a lazy morning but there is work to be done and I’m betting I won’t melt out there.