On a scale of one to ten, today was about a 27. It's dry, the sky is outrageously blue, it's not too hot nor too cool, a slight breeze. Perfection.
After the hours I've spent indoors over the past two weeks, I needed—no, I craved—the outdoors. This morning, Jay and I restarted our weekend kayak excursions on a nearby reservoir. I forgot my camera but we enjoyed it so much, we're going back next weekend (if the weather is good) to paddle this spot again—with my trusty camera.
For me, the most fascinating spot was a floating bog, a place where very short bushes grow (they looked like low-bush blueberries). Irises dotted the perimeter, and a plant unknown to me held cottony seedpods above the fray. Glistening with dew, they appeared like so many stars in the light.
But the best part were the bedewed spiderwebs, misted by ghostly exhalations that rose like merry spectres. Against the backdrop of green leaves turning red, it caught my breath and carried it away.
After paddling, we drove over to Woodstock to see Sculpturefest, an annual outdoor celebration of all things three-dimentsional that I've written about a couple of times.
And then we picked apples at Moore's Orchard.
This half-day excursions just delight me because there's joy in the morning and enough time to start clipping back the garden in the afternoon.
I sure hope the spiderwebs are still intact next weekend. You've just got to see them.
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