Country Morning

Day 313: Morning light. It falls like an enchantment on the garden as the sun climbs over the shoulder of the Mountain, sending its sweet rays between gaps in the sleepy evergreens. It illuminates in gold the manuscript of the day, gilding flowers and nodding grass heads. Graced with the lilt of rising birdsong, the morning air holds a note of autumn; just a touch of chill lingers, soon to be banished and soon forgotten in the heat of afternoon though it marks the going-out of the season's first advance. We must pretend a little longer that summer endures for more than a few brief weeks. We must not allow ourselves to acknowledge autumn's toe in the door. An August morning's light deludes us gaily, like the sleight of hand employed by a magician. We believe because we want to, not because there is any truth in the matter.