What a difference a week makes! This morning's lower temp's made it hard to believe that last weekend and now this week's ending were within the same month much less woven within a week of one another. With the dog days of August now winding down and the cool morning breeze whispering soft hints of Indian summer rounding the corner of our southern season, I had to get out of the house and stroll the dirt road to start my Friday. The sky was so clear, not a cloud in sight, and I don't believe even the color masters of Crayola could have matched this morning's rich blue sky.

I have long been in love with our neighboring hay fields once cut and baled. I love most the randomness of the bales scattered across the fresh cut fields. It was the perfect morning to walk out among the bales and photograph them basking in the morning sun. As I walked through the pasture, weaving my way through the vast bales, I couldn't help being drawn toward the old abandoned farm house that stands guard at the entrance to our dirt road. So many times I have walked through it, standing in each empty room lost in wonder of its memories of long ago. How many bare feet have run scampering across its front porch, crossing its thresholds......? What are its stories of a time gone by and long forgotten?

Just beyond the view of its kitchen window grows an enormous fig bush; quite frankly, it is now a fig tree. I LOVE fresh figs.....not to mention the damage I can do to a package of Fig Newtons............so to discover this fruit bearing jewel was a bonus to an already amazing morning. There must have been 999+ figs from top to bottom of this tree. And while not all were ready for picking and eating, at least about half were............the challenge was where to start! With the ample rainfall we've experienced this summer, many of the ripened figs were literally bursting on the very branches where they grew. Joining me for a late morning fruit feast were dozens and dozens of ever so soft ~ fluttering ~ butterflies along with dragonflies, various bees and beetles and the morning chorus of cicadas and locusts with that all so familiar frenzied rise and fall of their fevered pitch.

Here are some of the sights along my path ~ my only regret is that I am unable to embellish these photographs with the sounds and smells of this rural life that surrounds me.

Here is our dirt road ~ my path.....

Here is a wildflower that I have fallen in love with and could not wait to rediscover this summer.  It's bloom is intricate and most delicate  having the thinnest of vines while growing wild along the fenceline of our dirt road.

Here is the old abandoned farm house that stands guard at the entrance of our dirt road.  I often stand gazing at its remnants wondering of the memories that this house must host.

Here is the HUGE fig bush (I call it a tree) in all its grandure that is just beyond the old kitchen window of the farm house.  With the generous rainfall we've had this summer, it is baring literally thousands of figs.

I stood and ate figs alone in the cool morning breeze of this late August day.  The only sounds that surrounded me were those of the birds, the distant highway and the frenzied rise and fall of the morning cicadas.

Above is one of many butterflies who shared in my delight of freshly ripened figs.  The butterflies were a multitude of colors and sizes and shared the sweet juices of the fruits along with dragonflies, beetles and other hoppers.

Since our move to the dirt road, I have become all too selfish with my love of the hay bales as they lie scattered through pastured fields at random.  The sweet fragrance of fresh cut hay permeates the air that I believe will always yield a soothing and comforting memory.

With the slow walk back down the dirt road home, I took in as much of the fragrant air as I could inhale ~ lacing my mind with the memory of breakfast with butterflies and the best start to a weekend that will long dwell in my memories.

Have a great weekend, Y'all!
Harriette