Few living creatures are as wriggly and “aw” inspiring as a spotted fawn. Two does and the fawn appeared last night just before dark. Buck and I were washing our supper dishes. He said, “Look.” The fawn was under its mom, bouncing his snout against her udder. She reached over and gave his tail a little jerk, as if to say, “Easy there, kid. Don’t be so rough.”
The woods are filling with the common seasonal flowers I find extraordinary. Their whites, yellows and purples signal autumn as surely as the gradual decline in temperatures. Today is forecast for a high of 90, but this time next week we’re looking at (and hopeful to see) a high of 83 and evening temps in the sixties. Already, I’m standing outside on the patio at night before going to bed to listen to owls. All we need now is a good rain and a big wind to make the thousands of dying and dead love bugs disappear.
And the old oak by the gate. My touchstone. Last Thursday morning, when I took these pictures, something about the angle of the morning sun made it even more beautiful than usual. Steel and filigree.