longer.blue

Postcards from the Carolinas 7 am The lopsided remainder of an almost Carolina moon begins to fade. The dogs alert to something in the field. A large doe in silhouette becomes a sculpture. Long fingers of a not quite risen sun inch across wet grass. For a few brief moments, trapped steam disguises the landscape in white georgette. The dogs mock-fight on hind legs before rolling in the grass. Ecstasy, in their minds. A kettle of turkey buzzards wheels silently over the lake. As we leave the field the doe breathes and flicks her ears. Wish you were here. Dlm