Yesterday was extraordinary. It looked like November: there were very few leaves above ground, the cattails were dead, and the North Field was browning. Yet, the temperatures were in the sixties (F).
Yesterday also was still and quiet near the pond, which became a reflecting pool. We sat unmoving on Flat Rock behind the pond and stared at the Field the way the deer and coyotes do from the woods’ edge, looking for movement before stepping into the open.
There was no movement, but we could imagine the flock of sheep that grazed this Field in the 19th Century, nosing the grass as they moved toward us. (Brooklin, Maine)