On the drive out and back we saw a dead skunk, a dead owl, and a little herd of (very much alive) antelope--all bucks, perhaps seven or eight of them grazing in alfalfa stubble. The autumn-angled light is bright through a whitish haze, and multitudes of billowing clouds are moving in, low and heavy. The wind is angling around; I predict rain.

The llamas drink well-water now that the creek is low and I've put away the irrigation pump. The herb garden is beginning to wilt--I have not kept up with watering--so I hope it does rain. I'll go out with my brother soon in any case and the two of us will fill water jugs by hand down at the sluggish creek and give the plants a good drink.

I love these days. Cool air that smells hot in the strange light. The unsettled-ness--the atmosphere of imminent change that penetrates every minute and all aspects of life. Last fall it signaled a descent into a black black night of the soul. But the intermittent brightening since spring continues with a consistency that carries a certainty of peace with it. Regardless of what the future holds for us now, we will thrive.
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