That morning in Dillon

The fissure runs deep up the verdant hillside, a crack of considerable length and depth, dividing the herd and I wonder where and how they come together.   Perhaps it is on the other side of the hill, just beyond the horizon, hidden by the marine layer.  The schism snakes in front of me in stark contrast to the gentle slope of the hillside, nature making the divide a thing of beauty. Seemingly out of nowhere, a shiver runs up my body and I pull tighter my open coat and head to the car.


Just before 9

The dappled sunlight falls across this Juliet balcony in the early morning hours of late spring.  It is easy to see that the curtains are drawn and imagine those who dwell within sleeping soundly in the darkened room away from the rising heat of this corner of the world.  I stop to admire the gentle curves of the window frame and roofline, the lacy pattern of the leaves against the white stucco and the shadows of the nearby trees.  It is just before 9 am on a Saturday morning and the romance inspired by this drawn draped window has me wondering why I am not home with you.

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