We were rained out of our walk four days in a row and made the most of a clear sky when it came. When friend Karen walked with me a week before, I never pointed out the two little streams we walked over. It was pointless, because they could be neither seen nor heard. Both called out for attention after being revived by the relentless days of rain. Welcome back, little streams.
Neighbor John O. came down his road, and I asked if he’d be willing to go with me on one of his walking routes. He talked of going through a future development, and I wasn’t sure how to get there. We hung a right and a left, and there it was. There are no homes yet. I saw a sign with 8 on it, so there are at least eight plots for sale. We walked up the muddy track, and suddenly I turned my head and saw the view, enhanced by low lying clouds. I knew I was looking at the round bales of hay that I usually see over my computer screen. If you bought a plot on the hillside, and if there were no fences in the way, I could easily walk to visit you.
The little toy camera insisted on recording everything in sight. When it wasn’t looking, I cut the number of shots to six. My favorite shows a yellow school bus on its morning run, the distance shrinking it to almost nothing.
I followed the call of the view from our deck where cloud fingers were reaching down to tickle the trees. The furthest field holds the bales of hay (hale bays for two readers). There has been no evaporation from the overflowing birdbath. The clouds are gathering again, but I’m not going to let them threaten me.