My dog, Lucy, and I harmonize all morning, walking twice, with food in between. Then, for the first time in a long while, I draft an article, Lucy sleeping quietly as I write, followed by another walk with Lucy, with her mostly just wanting to lie beneath the big oak tree next to my house. She has a point: I, too, notice how good the breeze and energy feel there! I realize that, after so much time on my deck, she misses lying with her belly directly on Mama's cool soil. And, frankly, I long for walking barefoot on Mama, too, if it weren't for all those wicked fire ants.
I feel strangely sleepy after all this and take a brief nap. Lucy is avoiding the bedroom now after the episode two days ago, when she encountered her mirror image in a large mirror there. She was quite spooked.
Now, back on my deck, I can't shake the feeling and thought: "We never know when we experience our last happy, perfect day. At the time, we see it just as another okay day" (Movie: The Fault in our Stars). I remember also how happy I was at times during my childhood during a summer day, just like this one, with buzzing insects and exhausted, fully-grown plants holding their breath in the heat. They long for the coolness of evening to resurrect themselves again. Back then, it was the fields with fully grown wheat and turnips, radiating a special glow, sprinkled with blue cornflowers and red poppies throughout. Yes, those were the summers of my youth.
Now, I smile as Lucy watches first falling leaves floating down from everywhere onto my deck. Her eyes reveal she's never witnessed anything of this kind, and she "watches TV" through the spokes of the railing, as she observes every movement and scent in the garden below, like a fascinating movie. Yes, I am happy. No geo-engineering for a second day in a row, which brought a lovely breeze to my location, less humidity and..some natural clouds--Yippeee! Such a great feel and wonderful, rare sight! Just as I write this, chemical cloud formations and pieces of left-over chemtrails from elsewhere are drifting into the picture:
"Remember summer," I hear the voice of my spirit.
"Remember this summer," whisper the trees. "Soon, the skies will be yellow, as on Venus.
I get up to water my garden. The smell of the sprinklers are mixing with steam of the soil, rising to my deck, during the glow of late afternoon sun. "Yes, I shall remember this," I promised, as chattering gold finches flutter by. I pluck some crisp lettuce and kale from my veggie bed for supper, complete with radishes and cucumber, a pepper and some dill. Lucy is fed and sleeping again. The bird feeder is full again, too. Everything watered and standing tall, except for the sunflowers haning their heads, pregnant with seeds: