Today was busy, busy all day long. I’ve been running hither and thither all morning tending to groceries and chores. Haven’t had time to watch the birds or ponder on the meaning of life, no time for thoughts on my words for tonight.

The chalky white overcast sky parted mid-afternoon and let patches of the azure sky and warm yellow sunshine peek through. The sun bleached the cigar smoke clouds Clorox white. My yard has been teeming with birds — cardinals, titmice, wrens, goldfinches, chickadees, and purple finches have been perched on the feeders all day. I know they were happy to see the suet and a 40 pound bag of sunflower seeds in my groceries.

I went up to the farm and spent the afternoon with vet brother and oldest sister-in-law. Such a beautiful view of the afternoon sky from their back porch. My son and my grandsons and other members of their Scout troop are camping up at the farm working on their wilderness survival merit badges, building homemade shelters to spent the night in tonight, honing in on their survival skills. If being muddy is any indication of having fun, they are having great fun. Those boys and some of the Scout leaders were muddy up to their knees. But everyone was smiling and happily excited.

Vet brother lectured them on the Creek Indians and about Indian artifacts that could be found here and in the surrounding counties. The boys enjoyed his talk and after a question and answer session, the boys gathered around the pasture fence, watching the small herd of cows patiently waiting for their afternoon hay bales. The cows were close to the fence watching the boys who were close to the fence watching them. City boys in the country fascinated by a small herd of cows. I loved it and evidently the cows enjoyed the attention with their braying and mooing. When the trucks full of boys left, the cows followed along the fence and the boys started singing and I thought, such innocent happiness on their young faces. Hope they can always be free and happy and blessed in this life.

When I got home I sat down in the swing to relax and ponder and drink a Coke. I watched a line of buzzards flying towards the setting sun. Stew came out on the porch and we counted the buzzards, at least 50 before we stopped counting. They were so handsome when the sunlight touched their glossy black wings, illuminating their silver wing tip feathers. A few stragglers came along later. The buzzards weren’t flying in a wake and were flapping their wings, not high enough to ride the wind thermals. I wonder where they roost at night?

I watched the pageant of sunset tonight perched on the porch swing waiting for Mother Nature to fulminate her watercolors across the blue horizon and paint the clouds. She was subdued on her pageant stage painting tonight, saving her wondrous color for the clouds. Grey wisps of smoky clouds, their bellies colored champagne gold, filled the sky above the horizon, slowly floating in a sea of azure sky. As Mother Nature brushed a pale peach across the horizon’s stage, the sun quickly walked down the horizon as a silver beacon of day’s light. Mother Nature concentrated her watercolor brushes on the clouds on the western side of the horizon and I’ve never seen more beautiful clouds in blue shades of cornflower and ultramarine, dark and heavy, stretched along the skyline, turning dark purple as light left the sky. As the twilight thickened, a pale watermelon pink flame burned across the horizon flickering out as day’s light ended.

Father Sky kissed the sun good night and waked the 22 day old waning gibbous moon before he had time to fully dress, marching him high to stand on the velvet black stage of the chalybeous sky. The twinkling diamonds of the night sky joined the moon on stage and the night was awake and the day abed in a rendering of glorious purple.

Hope the Scouts are tucked in warmly in their small homemade shelters, their bellies full, their prayers said, dreaming of Creek Indian boys, and a little herd of black and brown cows.

“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. It must be felt with the heart,” Helen Keller