At 6:38 this morning we creep outside for another Hot Tub Summit. The moon still rests high on her nighttime throne, gloriously full, casting brilliant silver light all over the hills and valleys and fields. I cannot detect the slightest breeze, no movement anywhere. Even the geese are quiet. The farm is still asleep.
Oak, blackjack, red bud, and pine trees stretch their perfect, inky silhouettes out against the sky while we soak in the scalding water and unwind ourselves from the night.
When the time finally comes to abandon the quiet, to begin a new day, that smooth gray canopy above us has clicked over to a deep shade of blue. The moon is politely receding into the western sky. And the guineas have started their morning song.