Dear Liza,
The sunshine has returned! I thought it was gone until Spring, but this week has been as bright and dry as August in Salinas.
I have pictures but no words, so I will borrow some from the English poet John Keats, who wrote it in the fall of 1819.
To Autumn
Season of mists and mellow fruitfullness
Close-bosomed friend of the maturing sun
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel-shells 
With sweet kernal; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells…
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too.
Dear Liza 
Nice eye, girl! There are faint ripples in the darkened water, yet it seems to be smooth, white sky on the left until the photo is enlarged to see the far lake shore. My, how adaptive, complex and beautiful Nature is!!!! Just like the photographtress. (Say, why does feminism now take on the form of male gender? Is it not supposed to empower and elevate women? Then why is Meryl Streep an “actor?” In my book, Katherine Hepburn was an actress, a strong FEMALE. Nor would I want to argue with either her or Streep. Does that make me “chicken” or “rooster?” — neither, probably a CAPON!!!! Okay, I’m horsing around. I had better get that cup or morning coffee. Have a wonderful, explorative and exciting day, my friend!)
LikeLike