Relative Something

Friday morning, Asher got a little ahead of us into the woods on our walk. My eye caught sight of something dark with a huge wingspan moving through the trees, most likely in response to the dog’s presence. It was dramatically large, but I couldn’t see anything identifying beyond a total blackness.

Our first impressions were of an eagle or owl, based on the spread of those wings. When it paused briefly on a mid-height branch, it didn’t bring its wings in, giving the impression of possible injury and continuing to strike awe for how big it was to be flying among all our trees. Then it quickly flew away and up into other trees until I couldn’t find it anymore.

We arrived at the barn as the sun was beginning to be visible through the tree branches on our eastern horizon. The temperature had dropped well below freezing overnight, and the frost was significant over the grass. There wasn’t a hint of any air moving.

While I was taking care of groundskeeping in the paddocks, it suddenly sounded like raindrops were falling. I looked up to discover the warm sunshine was bathing the trees, and the sound was coming from scores of leaves letting go and falling, knocking others loose on the way down.

It was mesmerizing. I stared for the longest time without moving as the show played out. The number of leaves breaking loose from branches all at the same time, without the slightest breeze wiggling them free, was mind-blowing.

They just kept breaking away and dropping straight down, making the most interesting chorus of light tapping.

I assume the striking scene was a result of the difference between being frozen overnight and then suddenly warming up in the direct sunlight. As the minutes passed, the spectacle of the falling leaves faded, presumably as the temperature variation in the trees equalized over time.

Asher and I spent much of the day simply watching the beauty of the landscapes around us.

Cyndie took a picture of us sitting on the spot we’ve turned into a lookout at the top of the first rise of the driveway from the road.

I’d been watching the horses make their way lazily from the large paddock out to graze in the hay field.

There was a thin crust of ice on Paddock Lake before the sun appeared high enough to melt it. We have plenty of grass that could be mowed once more, but by the time it gets dry, my motivation is nowhere to be found. Instead, I watched from our perch on the hill as our neighbor mowed his.

If I never get around to it before winter arrives, it won’t be a catastrophe. Somebody seems to be loosening his standards around here. Maybe it’s a result of my recent thinking about what this place would look like if we did nothing to care for it.

Fooling around could have me eventually finding out.

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