Golden August Morning

The mornings are very damp now, and I am starting to see some spider webs. Not big ones yet, but soon. The dampness changes the light. No, let me say it better. The light hangs upon the dew-damp air like molten gold.

Morning came. I saw the mist. I saw the light. I grabbed my camera and ran across the road to a little meadow. There are geese there now, and I hear and see them, practicing their aerial maneuvers, getting ready.

Someone has mowed the field, but the mower left a row of wildflowers along the edge. I see Queen Anne's lace there. For the butterflies. For the bees. For me. For all the lovers of wild, beautiful, unexpected things.

Thank you, friend.

The light was shining down from behind the trees, and I had to show you how beautiful it was: the August morning, the meadow, the flowers shining in the light of the golden mist.

Here is a song I love, and I'll be the first to admit I've used it before, but not lately. I especially enjoy this version from the album Trio II, by Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt, and Emmylou Harris: After the Gold Rush.

P.S. To the person who left the wildflowers uncut by the mower, here is a Robert Frost poem that fits the occasion, I think:
The Tuft of Flowers