Verdant, Shining

We were in central New York for the past few days, visiting my father, staying at the lake where I grew up. Early on the last morning, a deer walked slowly across the grass near the house, on her way to the water's edge, stopping to graze now and then, lifting her head to sniff and listen. We hardly ever see deer so close to the house, so I was surprised and grateful. I had been feeling sad to be leaving, and this beautiful animal felt like a sign to me that all was well, all would be well.

A little while later I went out to see if she was still there. The deer had disappeared, like the apparition she seemed to be, but the morning light was extraordinary as the mist blew across the water.

Someone had already had their breakfast:

And thousands of miniature worlds hung suspended in the dew.

The day before we had driven to Cooperstown with my father and his friend, through the green hills...

...and fields where the corn was just emerging.

We saw a lot of wildlife. Flocks of geese in the fields, and on the water with many goslings. Delicate wild bunnies. Herons and hawks. Skunks and woodchucks. Lots of deer. Wild turkeys. And even a gloriously blue bluebird.

And here's Dad and me at our destination: that most American and summer-celebratory of institutions, the Baseball Hall of Fame, with a couple of pretty good hitters behind us.

It's hard to believe, but even though I've been in Cooperstown countless times - I practically lived there one winter long ago - I'd never been to the BHoF before. We had fun. And were sorry to just miss meeting up with Phoenicia author and good friend Marly Youmans, who lives nearby. Next time!