'Twas a day of tug o' war between bright sunshine and ominous clouds. The wind a frantic cheerleader, switching sides at a whim. A Red-shouldered hawk swooping down against the turbulence to snag a meal from within the tangle of a fallen trees skeleton. Then laboring, pumping its wings to carry its dinner to a nice plump oak branch to serve as a dining table. No need to clear the table, just drop the inedible leftovers into the creek below. Holding my camera in my hand I decided to make an effort to find something beautiful in the sleeping landscape. Something worth capturing in the short distance from the barn to the house. Lichens on the trees along the driveway became my muse. As the sun fell, the peeper chorus began to grow into a deafening din. But it is a sound that is so familiar it blends into the background and my ears have to make a concerted effort to single it out. Sort of an "Oh yeah, the peepers are singing." That's what living in the country does. It wraps you in a blanket of sounds, sights and smells that feel like something that's been there all your life. Pure comfort.
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