It is a still and comfortable 73 early August degrees. There is a gentle lullaby wind undulating through the sleepy ballerina like flowers on the slender, athletic branches of my miniature trees.
They seem to be getting ready to help the Disney like pinkish white flowers start a pirouette.
The sky has no blemishes but it looks as though there is a clear satin spayed over the blueish
heavens.
The sounds around me seem to be muffled, the jets that fly over head every once in a while seem to be more of a shush than a whoosh. The birds that are chirping sound more like a quiet good night rather than a morning roster tweet.
All of this brings my life into a place that I don't visit enough.
I know the flowers on the trees won't stay ballerinas for much longer and summer will soon take a well deserved curtain call.
