For those who are not of Celtic origins, a "Soft Day" is a day when it rainsslowly and steadily all day and the world is in a shroud of raindrops andmist.So, I awoke this morning to what sounded like a 'Fine Soft Day'.
I could hear the steady hum of the light rain outside my window. I stretched andcrawled out of bed and took the puppies out. Being Boxers, neither waswilling to dampen their delicate toes
The morning episode of Star Trek and it's time to make Denver's Breakfastand lunch. Then wake him. He groans and tries to put me off until thedoggies get involved. That usually gets him out of bed
Break time to spend with Denver. Chatting about the girl caught in theelevator last night. My husband is a hero and often has college coeds hughim for releasing them
Opening the curtains to watch Denver leave. There he goes, his mascot, BuzzLightyear, sitting on the dashboard of his van. He joins the neighbors ontheir way to work. The same ones who I watched come home to their familie slast night.
After he left, I put on a skirt and my crocs, grabbed a shawl, an umbrellaand a towel (the bench would be wet
We'll have to start decorating our yard soon. The neighborhood kind ofdepends on us for the Halloween Night
The teachersfold their umbrellas and go in. I gather my things and walk home. One of mycrows is yelling at me from the oak tree in my back yard. He'll be in thepecans this afternoon
Looking at the ground, there are the first few golden maple leaves on the ground. Here in the South, some trees hold leaves until the new buds begin to swell,so most trees now are still covered. But a few golden maples are already onthe ground. The year is a circle and I always see it begin in my mind in thefall. Everything is working in quiet to prepare for the leap in the Spring. We'll have a carpet of leaves soon, but for now, just a few for decoration.I can almost count them.
Came home, made some toast and opened another jar of apple butter. There maybe none left for Christmas gifts
The toast pops and I spread theapple butter. Tasting it, the cinnamon jumps at me, as it always does. WhenI eat cinnamon, I always remember the line from Jane Austen's Sense andSensibility. The youngest sister asks the Captain what India was like. Theair if full if spices," he whispers. I hear that line every time.
My crow is yelling again, he's in the pecans now
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