monday morning
The scotch pines are like photography but the clouds are like oil paintings, moving very slowly north. A late hummingbird visits the feeder that is probably empty now - but she stays quite a while anyway dipping her head over and over. This house is making me melancholy again. I am thinking of how this is probably the last autumn we will be here, that I will sit here and see this scene. See that twisty pine. See the fog that always hangs over the creek before the sun hits the far hill. Dad sat here too a lot and said his goodbyes. I miss dad today - he would have some words of wisdom for my situation. Canada geese fly over instead with their message.
