Sunday, August 16, 2009
A Sunday In The Life Of
August mornings are often shrouded and mysterious. Today the sun was a glimmering disk, incandescent behind its misty veil. Once it broke through the fog, it pointed with golden fingers to spider webs spun overnight, sparkling like circus tents for fairies. It is easy to believe in magic and other worlds on an August morning.
Before the heat clamps down like an iron fist, I take a leisurely ride on my bicycle along the edge of the pond. The currants are ripening in a purple tangle. I pick some and nibble at the clusters of tiny, tart-sweet berries. The gentle roar of a small plane makes me look up. As I watch, the little yellow airplane heads straight up into the clear blue sky and then ever so slowly tumbles backward and dives again before leveling out and moseying off to its private grassy airfield a few miles south.
(I found this image of the actual plane on flickr.com/photos/37309693@N00/238961338)
Watching that plane roll and turn makes me think of the worlds within worlds we inhabit. Though I've been in a small plane myself and can identify with the thrill of flying, I can only guess at the pilot's thoughts as he tumbles through the blue like that. It looks so effortless and yet he's all concentration. There he is, in a world of dials and instruments and a knowledge of updrafts and tension and wind speed, while I, with my feet firmly planted on the ground think about how blue the sky is, what might tempt me for breakfast when I return home and how fast I have to ride to dodge the mosquitoes.
The middle of the day will be hot - the temperature is predicted to reach into the 90s - making a nap in the screen tent a necessity. A swim to cool off, either in my brother's pool or at a nearby lake will round out the day nicely. Sundays are rest days, after all. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow I'll clean the cottage and do the laundry and pull weeds. Today I will simply fly free.