Mushrooms, voles, trees, eagle

​               A monochromatic sky hung high over the back fields this morning. I never know if that 12-acre patch of grass, woods, and pond will liberate or constrict me. Today it contained…all things.
              An eagle soared high, high above the field, conducting systematic, unhurried surveillance. Its broad, rectangular wings, powerful and effortless.
            Insistent breezes rustled crowns of crowded foliage –maple, apple, poplar, oak, ash, white pine, hemlock – orchestral conversations. I am tree illiterate, but I listen, mesmerized.
            Mushrooms abound – virulent fleshy growths, children’s book illustrations, a hamburger bun, a bundt cake. They are complex signs of seasonal decay, and they reproduce with spores in the millions, like tiny trees.
            I found two dead voles in the trails mowed through shoulder-high grass. The dogs ignored them. I lifted each gray, furred body by its tiny tail, observed the bucktoothed mouth, gave each a moment of respectful grace, and tossed the body gently into thicker bracken, to settle back into earth, undisturbed.
 
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 8: 159 words, TOTAL = 1549;  58,451 remaining