djhammy

This evening, the farm.
Itapos;s stunning how early the sun goes down these days. It seems logical that the days would lengthen and shorten throughout the year at the same rate... The the speed at which the earth orbits the sun does not vary, does it? But each day, sunset takes a big step forward, rushing to get itself over with. In the heat of summer things donapos;t seem to change so quickly.

This evening, the light was almost completely faded as I helped Ruth turn the horses out. High in the trees at the edge of the woods, an eagle called. This was not the triumphant cry familiar to viewers of the Colbert Report - none of the eagles that hang around the farm sound like that. In the wild, eagles emit shrill whistley cries reminiscent of squeaky shopping cart wheels. Itapos;s not a sound that immediately engenders respect - you have to train your mind to associate a ridiculous sound with an awe-inspiring creature. The eagle soared over the barn, black wings and white head swooping in the dimness to perch on a tall dead tree. Ruth and I stopped and marvelled at it. "Our Natural Symptom," I said, then caught myself. "National Symbol, I mean." We both laughed. In moments it was blanketed in darkness.

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