Sunday Musings

Vermont, What I'm Reading, a Recipe

We’ve just returned from our morning miles, circling the edge of a lake, weaving through woodlands, tracing a river. It’s going to be one of those dreadful, uncomfortably hot days, but they do give birth to the most delicious mornings. 

The temperature is already 75 degrees, and it is not yet eight o’clock. With high humidity and dew point, we were treated to the seductive vapors emitted by the trees and flowers and grasses and shrubs, while the cool essence of both river and lake mixed with a heavier hazy air. 

We moved together, stopping on occasion to raise our noses to this perfumed scent or that. Emily is still not sure what to make of the mating call of the bullfrogs, and their deep bellow sounds preternatural. Samwise was the first to note the pileated woodpecker, flying head-heavy and awkward from tree to tree. I glimpsed the field mouse and had her scurry away while my friends were preoccupied with the aroma of wildflowers and the trace of whoever walked by them during the nigh…