Morning's Golden Light

The morning sun now strikes the front porch from the side, throwing shadows from a different angle. I've been turning my chair slightly so that the sun warms rather than blinds me as I

 sit to drink my coffee.

I think of the little house as facing due east, with full south beaming on the lower garden and clothesline. In reality, the house likely sits skewed to the four points of the compass.

The spider is clasping a 4th egg sack. The anchoring lines of her web shimmer like gold silk.  The web dances in a light breeze.

She clutches her pale gold balloon of precious eggs, her shadow large on the post behind her.

I sit,blinking, hands wrapped around  the china coffee mug, bemused by the odd cast of light: green, gold, pink.

The teasing wind stirs the raveled edges which rim the torn knees of my jeans.

A hummingbird whirrs past, wings throbbing like a tiny diesel engine.

She hovers and darts, feathers gleaming.

Across the road from our lower field, an oil rig drills.  The grinding sound echoes in the still morning.

Every few minutes there is a hissing snort like the exhaling of an angry dragon and fine rock dust belches forth.  The great swath of golden wildflowers has "gone by" and the plants stand, more green than gold as the seed heads ripen.

This branch broke from the sweet gum tree the morning after J. left for  Wyoming.

The green leaves have quickly greyed.

It is cool on this side of the house and the shade stretches up toward the barn.

A late bloom on the hibiscus by the garage.

A few buds remain, green above the browned seed pods of earlier blooms.

The golden flowers of the zinnias are still bold and gaudy, although the plants themselves are shabby now.

Several fresh clumps of zinnias have sprouted from fallen blossoms. If the weather holds there will be a second crop in bloom.

This amazes me.

The shaded view of the Michaelmas Daisies.

Light bathes a sprawl of lemon balm.

This unruly tangle of purple daisies faces the sun and is inter-twined with a rampaging grape vine and strands of honeysuckle.

Batchelors Buttons were slow to blossom.

The second cropping of beans is good--much less damage from beetles and such.

I have canned 15 quarts this week and kept out enough for three meals.

The mis-shapen ancient pear tree is weighted down with a burden of fruit.

Windfalls lie in the wet tangle of unmown grass under the tree.

They ooze sweetness, and there is the drone of bees and wasps who have begun their day's work early.

I have fetched a basket for the windfalls, wondering if Pebbles would fancy them.

Pebbles quickly decided that windfall pears are a fine treat--and it would be nice if someone offered them several times a day.

Sadie and Sally investigate the basket.

Willis supervises from atop the hay bales.

Sun is just now reaching the open entry of the barn.

Sally pokes her head through the gap in the boards, looking for Willis who is waiting to pounce.

Sun spills onto the stack of bales while Sadie and Willis have an exuberant game of chase.

J. arrived home Friday morning at 1:15 a.m.  On the back of Snort'n Nort'n is a freezer packed with beef.

The beef [which in life was known as Bemis--or was it Butt-head?] was raised, slaughtered and packaged by Howard and Heidi in Wyoming.

J. installed a DC converter under the hood of the truck so that the freezer could run off the truck battery.

The cats and I sewed and cleaned house until J. got home, having been alerted of his impending arrival.

Pebbles, hearing the old truck roar into the yard, emerged from her lean-to shelter and trumpeted a timely and joyous welcome.