![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFD32ZKiCGm4MBmAAPaguLO0fq5p7Kj7YjGYumnoXIpKqs0mP6i8fRbi2Wc8YVkiL0-yiJZxiMk-9ld7XbUmXWfzdCN77Md2drPB1imiOKzr-qT7mGSTXsYRM_3jtmxqLJS0aMVw/s400/Analect2.162x.jpg)
31 August 2007. High clouds pearl gray, even a chill to the air, after heavy end-of-summer days... Valley hills, parched and brown, concentric rings to the east. Copper mines and zinc, chunks of iron, the entire mineral lore--opening onto miles and miles of straight-plowed fields... The Golden State, by some standard, a banner and a name... Gray marshlands at dawn, absent wind, every tiny ripple... A minnow scooting back and forth in cloudy shallows, then another...stands of reed. A heron watching, preparé...