25 April 2002

I left work at 4:20am today - about an hour late! Although traffic had already started to pick up, the early morning commuters are more mellow than their later rising brethern - so at least I didn't have to contend with commuter cars darting in and out of the semi's and causing trouble.

The sky above my house was crisp, clear, and full of stars. Towards the west, I could see the fog sitting in the hills, back lit by a bright, nearly full moon. I drove out of town, rolling by the last remaining Peach Orchards near town. The branches are fully leafed out, now, and they stood silent and peacful in the moonlight. There are some young trees - sticks, right now, really - planted in a spot where some old trees came down last year. I am reminded that farmers are a stuborn lot who believe in miracles - seeing where those trees are located - right on prime house-building acreage, I wonder if they will stay long enough to produce a crop. Perhaps the farmer is, too. Or perhaps the farmer knows they won't, but likes to thumb his/her nose at us suburbanites that are taking away all this fertile cropland and turning it into tract homes. My window is rolled down and I hear a single bird call in the dark. I wish the farmer luck and start dreaming about fresh peaches and cream.

The hills are indeed foggy, but not heavily so, and the moonlight filters through it to light the shadows that are large, white-faced black cows standing on the hillsides.

My headlights follow the curves of the road, sometimes highlighting a patch of lupines or california poppies. I am reminded that spring is nearly gone as I see the grass surrounding them starting to brown. The first cutting of hay is already drying on the ground in the fields on the other side of the hills. Such a sweet smell.

I merge onto the freeway - noise, concrete and acrid fumes asault my senses. Time to roll up the window, and turn on the radio. Alan Jackson and a warm song about love and life. I don't remember the rest of the drive to work, but I do take with me the quiet of the early morning, and the comfort to know that while I am here in this cubicle, there are cows munching grass on the hillsides, and at least some farmers have survived another season and there will be fresh peaches, dribbling their sweet juice down my son's face for one more summer.

Take care everyone. Blessings to you.

Karla