The thermometer read 30 degrees under overcast skies when I left this morning to walk the inaugural Mole Day Fun Run, but by the time I got home and did some house-cleaning, the temperature had risen to 70 degrees and the sun was shining. I hauled a comfy chair out into the sunniest spot in the backyard and settled in to relax with a book, a cup of hot tea, and a stinky dog. The gentle sound of dry leaves rustling in the breeze could have sent me straight to sleep if it hadn't been for the shots.
Target practice or fireworks? The nearest neighbors are hosting a wedding this weekend and the sharp sounds issued from the former cow pasture where the groom recently built his house; given the number of pickup trucks parked up there, I suspect bachelor-party hijinks. Hopeful abandoned me to cower under the deck, but I stayed where I was. The shots and occasional hoots and hollers seemed an appropriate backdrop to the Stephen Crane war stories I was reading, and I wanted to spend time with the lovely yellow trees before all the leaves fall off and it gets too cold to enjoy them.
After a while the shots ceased and all the pickup trucks went racing down the road and out of my life (for now). Hopeful came out from under the deck and sat in front of me with an expression that seemed to ask what all the fuss was about, but before I could answer, she went bounding down the hill to investigate something more interesting. I went back to my book.
The trees just stood there.
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