Silence

In silence, we watched these Florida manatees, vacationing, as we were, in San Diego. Manatees are also loosely called "sea cows," and they weigh as much as any of our land cattle. But their grace in the water is a far cry from anything related to the clumsy, clattering movements of a beef cow as it jumps from a stock trailer or lashes out at you with a powerful hoof.

Silent was the best way to watch.



Earlier, we'd slipped onto a whale watching boat with a load of other tourists. Natural history volunteers in bright yellow slickers chattered on about the habits of migrating California grey whales, holding up maps and bones and posters to illustrate their points. The captain made jokes over the ship's loudspeaker; children moaned at the puns while others moaned with seasickness.

Then a whale spouted. A prolonged and total hush settled instantly over the whole entourage.

Let thy speech be better than silence, or be silent.

--Dionysius the Elder

Good Morning America, How Are You?

In Nebraska, things are just fine.

Goodbye to the Summer

I'm having to face an unpleasant fact.

I saw this sunflower skeleton outside my window this morning, "Summer's coming to an end," I sighed.

John corrected: "FALL's coming to an end."

Remember these sunflowers from July?

Remember our early morning garden times, and the glory and color that splashed into my world from every corner?

Now the landscape is drying up; colors are fading. Beauty, so saucy and unabashed for months, is donning her cloak, becoming delicate, shy, reclusive.

Fall is coming to an end.

Say it ain't so.