The foggy mist made ringlets of my hair and the clumps of dirt turned to mud under my fingernails as I weeded the walk of clover just after 7:30am. I have always loved those early hours before the sun bakes the earth in the summer or when the stillness of winter’s frozen ground is as silent as the air.
Read MoreThis morning as I step out of the barn, done with chores, the sun is still hiding and the deep indigo sky stretches out before me from one horizon to the next. That backdrop gives the stars, still bright and dancing, a stage for their performance not yet finished. I lift my chin to see the constellations stuck to the dome of blue, like window clings wrapped to the curve of the atmosphere.
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