the light.

 Yesterday, I drove home in the gloom. The gloaming, I guess they sometimes call it.

We're in it now--the late fall, just a month away from the solstice, the light getting dimmer earlier. Leaving work and walking to my car as it gets colder. 

As I drove south on the long road before I turn onto my street, I glanced to the east. I saw light on the Wasatch. I looked west, and saw the sun sinking into the Oquirrhs. East, the high peaks white with snow, white with last light. West, the orange pink coral streaking the clouds. 

I thought, in two minutes, that light on the Wasatch will be gone. I thought, I maybe can grab my camera before it disappears. I raced into the house, threw down my stuff, grabbed my camera.
                                                                                         

By the time I got back outside, the light in the east was gone. But the pink in the west was still tangled in the trees.

After Labor Day.

After Labor Day is when school should actually begin, in my opinion. Who are the early school starters kidding? It is too hot to learn in August. The early starters should take a little lesson from my childhood, when school started in, like, the tenth week of September. I remember going to the beach after Labor Day, the people. Fall, before school starts, is delicious. The heat actually feels precious, like a wonder, when you can feel it going.

The truth is, the early starters don't get it: school doesn't start for real until after Labor Day. We may be "attending." We may be "teaching." But until it feels like fall, we are not learning. Neolithic Man did not go to school until the fall. Check the fossil evidence.

Sigh.

Well, here are a few things that lifted my heart today on our last bike ride of the Labor Day holiday:

cormorants & cows

osprey, right overhead

canal

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