The maple in the pasture has turned to its full yellow-gold color and the scrub oaks have burnished their autumn copper. The Bradford pear standing by the lane still holds to its deep green. Fallen leaves and branches from the cottonwood litter the sand of the round pen by the stable. On the bluff across the creek bottom, ash and oak dapple their colors among the maples. The dust of a busy gravel road with no rain for a month covers everything low to the ground. Even the red of sumac barely shows through the thick tan coating.
Back on this side of the creek, Cisco and Jack stand at the hay, manes and tails rippled to the northeast by the stiff breeze that heralds the last summer day in October. We may hit eighty degrees by this afternoon, soon to be followed by a change in wind direction. Tomorrow night’s low will flirt with the freezing mark.
But for today, I will embrace the pleasantness, draw in the colors and savor the sight of the two geldings, standing side by side, drinking together in the water trough. They lift their heads at the same time, small streams of water draining from their lips, silver in the sunlight, diamonds rippling through the air toward earth, drawn back to their source.
In such blessing of harmony, I will try to speak and act today and do nothing to detract from the splendor that surrounds me.