was about wishes, mainly about where to live, not what to do with one’s life. Tonight my love and his parents come up the mountain and they’ll miss the beauty I see right now. The golden grasses swaying in the wind, the sun casting shadows that I cannot hope to capture in a photograph, and I don’t paint. As I write the magic lessens, and words cannot contain what I feel for this country especially at this time of day.
It’s magic time. Ephemeral, like life. Since I cannot adequately describe it in words, you might look to “America, The Beautiful” to give some semblance of its majesty. Folks are home, must go finish dinner.
Dee
Cooking with Dee 