Leaves are beginning to slowly fall from trees with our ongoing dry conditions. The earth is parched and the dirt road has dust on its dust.

The bluebirds seem not to mind as they continue about their business this morning feeding their broods - one nesting in the box on the telephone pole at the road, another in our Martin house.

As sunlight has gently crept into Friday's morning, the frogs in the pond haven't been ready to resign to the day and are content to continue their morning chorus.

The smoldering smoke of the South Georgia fires continues to make its way north and hangs heavy along the pastures' ridges reminding us of their lingering presence.

The aroma of coffee is my loyal friend this morning and offers it comfort.

Mornings like these seem to be frozen in time. Despite the drought conditions, I often wish they were.

I am simply glum.