In sixth grade one day, I was told to draw my house. Each student was to make a picture of his or her house. My house was across the road from a cornfield, and on our side of the road stood a row of mature elm trees, so I drew what one would see from the cornfield--the row of big, lovely trees with a house peeking through in bits. This was not right. I was supposed to have drawn the house, not the trees. Today's picture is my answer to that criticism. Down beyond the trees in this image, before you get to the lake, that's where I live. This is how I see it.
It looks different this morning, though. Mountains of clouds are piled up in every direction, and all the trees are dripping wet. It isn't the best possible morning for the Tour de Leelanau bicycle race. I haven't clicked on the marine radio yet to hear the forecast, though, and therefore can still hope for a break in the weather.
Farmers, boaters, event planners--there's no end to the list of people watching the skies, concerned with the coming weather. The migrating hawks don't seem to care. Neither do the trees and wildflowers. The ash trees are going that lovely fall plummy color, and there is a patch of asters just south of Fischer's Happy Hour Tavern that I enjoy each day when I pass as if it is a bouquet presented to me personally.
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