Bases of the trees are enveloped in shadows, contrasting with the treetops that glow as they collect waining streaks of sunlight. Their green is no longer as brilliant. Beyond the edges of the wood line, little creatures scamper around, and a deer--I never did see--blew its warning when it caught my scent.
Orange and yellow blossoms in the raised flower bed circle two soaring pine trees, and a hummingbird flits from bud to bud trying to syphon and savor a few drops of sweet nectar through its needle-like beak. Otherwise, no deer feed in the pasture or coyotes slink along the forest's shadows.
Ghostly ground fog collects and eerily rises from the trough of the northeast pasture. As I write, I can watch it lift higher and higher obscuring more and more of the landscape. It accentuates the emerald lawn that spreads out toward the white board fence. So picturesque is the quaint guest cottage nestled among the trees, I just stand on the porch appreciating it, enjoying it, and offering up a sincere prayer of thanks.