This week, I found myself thinking that we
(the land and I) were on the cusp of the coming of winter. I then reflected on this intuition:
No, that’s not right. It’s only October. Winter is at least two months away. We have at least a month of autumnal weather before winter arrives. But there it is again.
Some subtle shift in the gout de terroir,
the taste of the earth, is registering in my body--
it is winter. It feels like a miracle. Trees are burning bushes and God speaks to me through cool air, overcast sky,
which makes me feel I’m participating in one of the blindfolded taste tests: Which one is more like autumn, yesterday or today? Frankly, neither...
Mother Nature is doing her laundry as rain put the air through its spin cycle. It’s crisp, the air; no starch necessary or needed--
not even a dryer for that matter. I wake up, bounding. It’s an autumn in my step this time of the year. The days are shortening and consuming the burning bushes in order to litter the ground. The air is desiccating the gold, red, rust, yellow, orange, and all related hues in between to finally, brown. I highly anticipate this crunchy brown, this audible carpet signifying the changing of seasons and reminding me of bounty and life and deficit and death. The world needs a nap and who am I to stop it? It works so hard throughout the year. Finally drowsy as the sun continues to dim earlier each day. Soon the earth will sleep. I must fight the same urge with my soups, stews, cookies, down jackets, and waterproof boots with insulation and rubber soles. My nose perks at scents of cinnamon and nutmeg; warm, hearty flavors wafting through the streets and hallways.
Winter has decided to blast us as autumn is being a bit coy. I get the hints, though, and I’m not one to be fooled. Fall, don’t let winter pass you by. Take your deserved turn and let us enjoy you for as long as you see fit. Then let winter introduce the barren trees and frigid air and therefore the crummy, grumpy dispositions of many city-dwellers. Autumn, tarry awhile, while I break out my sweaters and shoes appropriate for stepping on curled, lifeless leaves. Stiff, yet delicate. Non-pliable, perfectly shattering under enough pressure, the only way to celebrate rigor mortis. It’s fun. Let me play with the sound and feel of the crunch beneath my feet. I’d cross streets--
against the traffic signal--and jostle passersby to jump on the perfectly dried leaf. It can be my way of helping you with the decomposition of this world so that it can awake again. It’s the least I can do while I dream spending a warm day with
my friend and her sweet 'Lil angel in Indiana.
DREAM...EXPLORE...AND DISCOVER!!
With the first snow falling last night and weather forecasting for more this week, anticipation, or hopeful, for a better ski season in Mt. Bachelor. Light snowfall began last night and continued through early dawn at higher elevations with additional precipitation expected. The late snow has area resorts and local skiers on edge, waiting impatiently for its grand opening.
