Somehow the morning sun is bolder, more gilded and alive, with the windows open. Or is it the time of year? This sneak peek of autumn? Wide, flat sheets of moving light slice across the wood floor and make floating bits of dust look like fairies. Magic. The early birdsong is definitely stronger. And I had forgotten how sweet the air can taste at this kinder temperature.
I passed by the upstairs hallway windows, the ones overlooking the middle field, and marveled at the thick prairie grasses and their diamond wet. Grey fog rolling upward off the pond in strong, thoughtful columns of energy. Water that normally has a reddish cast, this morning was a murky blue-grey, a werewolf shade in broad daylight.
Chanta was grazing just below these open windows. I could hear his gentle horse breath and the juicy chomp-crunch-swallow of his green breakfast. I wondered briefly what were my odds of injury if I were to pry off one of those window screens and jump down onto his broad, muscular back? I never made a sound, but I think he must heave heard my thoughts because he let out an extended snuffle and walked away, sharply to his right.
Now the Lone Ranger music is in my head and I need to go for a run. I need to taste the sweet air more deeply. Feel the brackish touch of sun and shade on my skin and let the dew splash high on my legs. As much as I love the brutally hot summertime, this cool morning is filled with magic and I love it. I won’t waste it.
What magic are you pursuing today?