Astonishing bright for being dark when Lady and I stepped off this morning. Then I figured out why, the supermoon, just waning off that blood full moon, was high in the western sky.
It spilled light on the night.
This was a morning to walk down the darkness through to the light.
At the alley behind the bus barn, two rabbits sat perfectly still in the grass off the evergreens. The street light in the alley cast their front halves in light; the darkness hid their backsides.
Even Lady, our family's mutt, seemed struck by the divide between light and dark and did not strain to chase them.
At the end of the alley, the predawn put color in the morning against a linear skyline of roofs, electric and phone lines, and the grain elevators in the distance. Yes, it made me say, ``Hello, Charles Demuth.''
Needed the distance of pushing out an extended ramble, so I did. The moon on the far end caught my eye, so I stopped to try and capture the image.
Dawn neared arm-in-arm with beauty over the north old clay pit.
At the southwest corner of the north pit, a great blue heron flapped off. Once again it reminded me of an Oriental ink etching.
A few fish dimpled the water near shore on the north pit. Nothing like that on the south pit. My guess is that the shallower north pit has some temperature inversions drawing the fish to shore.
A rabbit taunted Lady by running down the east side of the south pit. The rabbit quickly bolted into the brush along the ditch.
Rabbits outside of town have a better developed sense of self-preservation.
Coming out of the wilds around the town pond, I saw only a few railroad guys this morning and they were pulling out.
Back downtown, the lone gray squirrel of the morning scurried off down the alley. Why it was there, I have no idea.
Meanwhile, Lady and I were wrapped in the wonderful aroma of the fillings for tacos and burritos cooking. It smelled like comfort food for the soul. The chef/cook, who runs a food truck for migrant and nursery workers, was loading his truck across from the bank.
The bank thermometer read 50 degrees. Felt about right.
Back home, a lone dove slowly whistle-flapped out of the neighbor's oak.
Fall leaves little question of its arrival.
The light at return was just as chilly as the darkness when we left.
Oh, of course, I go to Bruce Springsteen and ``Darkness on the Edge of Town.''