Okay, it wasn't a big tree, but it was a big limb . . .
. . . See?
No, really, it was big . . .
. . . I had to lumberjack those freshly-chainsawed-logs . . .
into the wheelbarrow . . .
. . . and over to the wood pile . . .
No, this is not Vermont, and no, we do not have an indoor wood-burning stove, but we do love a good Sunday afternoon campfire. I mean, who doesn't?
And in the meantime? On this past glorious weekend?
The last of the zinias . . .
And The Field? Well, the Field is always glorious. And has maybe never been more glorious.
Okay, maybe
this day in late summer was was more glorious . . .
. . . but you know what I mean.
The weather was glorious . . .
. . . the sunburst were glorious . . .
And Bluff Point?
Oh, you know it.
Glorious.
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