By Cheryl Moore
From the terrace, over the wooden fence with its lattice trim, the hills glow golden.
A shadow of eucalyptus stretches across, cutting off the light. Beyond, higher hills rise—these with a woodland coat, perhaps pines or other conifers, roll gently against the pale blue sky. A turkey vulture slowly circles with its ever-present eye.
A fence running across the golden grass bisects the slope—earlier cattle grazed, gone now.
The shadows grow—longer and longer—the glowing gold slowly dims as the sun edges lower and lower toward the earth’s rim.
On this September day with the equinox not far away, the evening approaches more swiftly, in preparation for the long nights to come, short days of limited sun—another year passing, another year to come.
Cheryl Moore grew up in the mid-west, went to college in San Francisco, then lived in foreign lands before returning and eventually settling in Sonoma County.
In recent years, she lives in a house and garden where deer nibble on roses, raccoons dine on fallen figs, and her bird feeders are busy.
A nearby river offers opportunities to observe waterfowl.
Seeing and writing about these miracles of nature are adventures in living.