There is no need to rhapsodize about the weather, which sings for itself.
Thanks go out to those who made possible the roses tumbling over the white fence in front of the Congregational Church; the mums on the porch of the Ag Hall; and especially the gourd hanging at the end of Old Courthouse Road.
September is a jar of honey on a windowsill, a yellow Labrador lolling on the grass, a sun-kissed stillness before winter.
How is it that Labor Day weekend is already upon us? There is a strange acceleration of time after the Ag Fair.
There is nothing to say about Henri except that we went into the weekend nicely stocked, which meant no more trips to the grocery store for several days, and that is happiness.
It's Fair week! Are you excited?
Have you noticed the Queen Anne's lace along the roadsides? Does it always lay so thickly across the fields in August, or is it having a banner year?
Living as we do, surrounded by visitors on holiday, certainly has its perks. That delicious, delirious, somewhat frantic vacation feeling is infectious.
The transition from July to August is kind of a big deal here, isn't it?
