Chicory blossoming, brilliantly blue. It often surprises me; for some reason it is stuck in my memory as the faded blue that the petals turn with age, and not the sky bright shade it begins with. Standing over the bright yellow hop clover, and over the grass as well -- it must grow quickly, because only sometimes is it low grass that has gone to seed. Then, not that quickly -- it's blooming along the edge of the road, often, where the mowers must leave it.
Saw a fox again. Perhaps the same one. Instead of looking warily at the car as I drove out, trotting briskly over the lawn as I looked out the window one morning. There was a butterfly fluttering palely ahead of it.
The amazingly intricate clouds with all the dips and rises and hollows -- I'd compare to a tree if they didn't tower higher and have more forms than any tree ever takes -- and then at the other side it blurs away into the sky, pure white haze that has no edges.