Another attempt at what I call 'capturing the essence' of a moment, and my feeling in that moment. I think the top photo succeeded.
The globe thistle have once again put on their annual show. This staging is better than Shakespeare in the Park, as we have a private performance all to ourselves, and the show continues on and on for more than week. We take many intermissions, as the splendor of these magnificent Gods renders one sleepy at times, so much purple and beauty to soak in at each viewing.
The grounds and fields are browned out, the dust feels slightly deader than spring dust. August is a time for me to rest more, stay slightly hidden from the sun. I find my energy flow is much more inward, and it is only in September that I begin to flow again. So if my writing feels somewhat sleepy, somewhat dusty, it's just the August in me.
