For the past five days Atlanta's weather, remarkably clear, hot, and exceptionally dry, sang of the high country. It should persist for another week. Such perfection is normally reserved for later in the endless Fall that is so characteristic of the Atlanta region. It reminds me of times in Montana and Colorado and many months spent living in and traveling the sacred high deserts of the Southwest. The days to come may bring some haze or even a brief thundershower, but today is a harbinger of that spectacular season that is but a few weeks away.
On such days in the past I usually made a special effort to be outside but for now I am content to enjoy the outside through the large picture window by my desk. Lots of reading and research today as well as football all interspersed with long pipe dreams provoked by my window on the world. I am left to sink into a welcomed rest, cradled by the music of Eric Whitacre and lyrics from the pen of Charles Silvestri.
Sleep
The evening hangs beneath the moon
A silver thread on darkened duneWith closing eyes and resting head
I know that sleep is coming soon
Upon my pillow safe in bed
A thousand pictures fill my head
I cannot sleep my minds aflight
And yet my limbs seem made of lead.
If there are noises in the night
A frightening shadow, fleeting light
Then I surrender unto sleep.
Where clouds of dreams give second sight
What dreams may come both dark and deep
Of flying wings and soaring leap
As I surrender unto sleep
As I surrender unto sleep
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