beautiful brew


Last weekend we went hiking both Saturday and Sunday and it couldn't have been more beautiful.  Thick fog and mist hung in the trees, bits of gold flashed and fluttered in the wind.  The forest was dark and soft and (human) silent.   We only saw a few other people out on the trail, another reason to love being out in the woods in the colder temperatures.

The weather at home has been all over the place.  Clear blue skies and bright sunshine one minute, charcoal skies and sideways rain the next.  Leaves are still hanging on to some trees, but the colors have largely fallen to the rain-slicked streets and sodden yards.  It's that messy, soppy point in fall.  A beautiful brew of not quite here / not quite there.  

It starts getting dark around 4:30 now, and the long dark evenings are just wonderful.   Most evenings after dinner I sit in my chair by the wood stove with a book (currently The Morning Star by Karl Ove Knausgaard or The Electricity of Every Living Thing by Katherine May), dimmed lights or candlelight, a cup of tea or a wee dram, and one very happy Pip next to me, but some evenings the moon calls and I set off down the hill, wrapped in a cloak of darkness, enchanted by the golden light glowing from windows and the mystery of each house.  

I ran into an old friend I hadn't seen for many years in town the other day.  It was one of those low days where I felt like I was failing at everything - motherhood, friendship, name it - and the hugs she gave me were like medicine.  It's a rare thing for me to have a close female friend, but we worked together and just clicked.  We were still pretty close for a few years after that, but, life, and I think the last time I saw her was when T was still little.  I can't wait to sit down and really catch up with her.  It made my week.  

I'm not sure what this weekend holds yet, we've made no plans, but I'm hoping for some more hiking, and, since it's supposed to be dry, maybe a meal around the fire pit.  I may not be back in this space until after Thanksgiving, in which case I wish you now the loveliest of celebrations with your families.  

slow notes:

  • I read recently that someone suggested an outdoor school for adults, for Oregon transplants who didn't get to experience it in 6th grade.  I went to outdoor school near Lebanon, Oregon in 6th grade, and it is a shining memory.  I'd go, again, in a heartbeat.  This, from OPB.
  • This, from Virginia Woolf:
    I need solitude. 
    I need space. 
    I need air. 
    I need the empty fields round me;
    and my legs pounding along roads; 
    and sleep; 
    and animal existence.  

    (I think I need to read more of her, soon.)

by mlekoshi