Summer is at the height of its glory. The skies are darker in the morning, a fading purple dawn about five thirty. A fog comes up from the ground and lays on the corn and the tobacco plants, a line of cows coming through a pasture following the leader their hooves falling ghostly. We need water, but everywhere around the plants and flowers are a reminding pleasure. Thank you to everyone who reminds me what good meaningful things are. The rest will simply blow away.