The sky is impossibly blue, the trees are a million shades of green and the water is clear and...... cold? Something happened to August; it turned into late September. For two weekends now the mercury (okay, the digital read-out) has barely topped 80 degrees. Today was a downright chilly 72. But as wrong as it feels, I'm loving it.
Sleeping with a breeze through the windows, the night full of crickets, it's like a different world. My dreams are filled with nature. I awake expecting to be staring up at the moon from a sleeping bag, but it's only the streetlight seeping through a crack in the blinds. Then I drift away again, to the river, the garden or to a desert I've never seen. Morning comes fresh, dew is thick. Mist rises slowly from the river valley. I want to revel in the cool and drink coffee while I warm myself in the sun. A day like this is inspiring. It begs to be painted. It cries for my company. What a shame to waste such rare and glorious days on work.