A faux horse hooked up to a very real — antique — buggy points the way to another footpath in Gettysburg, PA.
I looked out my window. The bright yellow trees have turned bronze, the scarlet maples are bare. But there, in the middle of the brown of November is one, bright tree — a Japanese Maple given to me years ago by my cousin. It has been lovingly nurtured for over a decade. Here is the last shining tree of Autumn 2013. The last tree standing.
Such a popular prompt.This is the third time in less than a year I find myself responding to it. It’s a no-brainer, fortunately, lending itself easily to words and pictures.
“After we were clear of the river Oceanus, and had got out into the open sea, we went on till we reached the Aeaean island where there is dawn and sunrise as in other places. We then drew our ship on to the sands and got out of her on to the shore, where we went to sleep and waited till day should break.Then, when the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared…” The reference to “rosy-fingered dawn” appears in the Odyssey several times and it has stuck in my head, so much so that whenever I see a pink streaked dawn sky, I think of it.
It is indeed hard to get oneself up and out when bedtime was just a couple of hours before. I’m not a night owl. I’m a day-and-night owl, someone who wakes up early but has a lot of trouble sleeping at night so I see the sunrise more often than I’d like. There are days when those birds singing are the final straw. All night tossing and turning and waking and trying to relax, relax, breathe and go back to sleep … and then the birds start their early chorus.
Sometimes the dogs chime in and everything is singing I have to laugh. No matter how tired I am, the singing dog pack and the birdsong out on the porch is like a great movie gone entirely wrong. What can I do but smile and brew some coffee?
On those rare occasions when I drag my weary carcass up and out, camera in hand, I’m glad because the world is a-borning and I am there to make it mine.
The sky bright blue, accented with puffy white clouds and the water, taking its cue from the sky, felt that blueness was an appropriate choice for this day in autumn along the Atlantic coast.
The people came and went and oddly, though they could not have said way, felt the blueness too. Jackets and jeans, bags and bottles in shades of blue, all blue and bright with sun on a crisply beautiful day in Hyannisport.
The color is scarlet, the feeling is excitement. The mood is up and the sky is full of hope. The hue of me is bright and bold.
Just a 22 year old girl with big dreams and an ambition to make it in the world.
What is on the menu today?
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