existence is a thing of variable intensity

These waves wash ashore on a remote, untrammeled beach on L. Ontario at the end of the 'Owl Trail' and as I write, I can hear the whooo who who hooooot of an owl who yesterday was in the west woods and now is down along Salmon Creek to the south. It's dark already in late August, moon almost full over the bay and frogs singing again. Quiet. cool at last, a summer of swelter and rain. While driving up to Ridge Road a little while ago, caught a classic rock playlist with 'Hey, you get offa my cloud' starting to get everybody in the mood. . .and then 'Landslide' but this time not by Fleetwood, but the Dixie Chicks.

Ah, dogs barking at the night . . . . calm down, Jackson, it's just Friday night. -- posted by Barbara