Are we there yet?

 

It takes a long time to wind down when one goes somewhere to relax and though the body may go through the motions I think my mind is a full two days behind.

It's cold and still up North, and during walks down these roads the smell of wood burn and cinder  brushed my nose. The crackle of  twigs underfoot and echo of  trailing leaves and birdwing caught my ear for more than just a second and was gone, like the wisp of a kite tail caught in an updraft.

My thoughts came to rest on a single leaf, color of pumpkin, army green and red as it caught on my sweater sleeve on it's way to the ground. I held it up to the sun to look through it as if it were a pirate's spy glass and turned it over and again, vowing to press it between two sheets of wax and preserve it for all time before letting it drop to my shoe.

Such things cannot be preserved, I thought, they come and they go with little knowledge that they ever existed but for the unimaginable odds that this very leaf landed on my sleeve at the very moment I walked through the woods.

I came upon an Inn where I feasted  on a salad of Romaine lettuce, gorgonzola and craisins with a rich dressing I can only imagine to be a derivation of something balsamic and nutty. It was delicious, chilly and warm at the same time and filled a void in me.

I continued on my path and came upon three strangers relaxing in adirondack chairs who seemed to be enjoying the weather and delighted in cajoling strangers, calling out ' there's a Berry Picker' in hushed tones and giggling to themselves. A couple of stuffed shirts I thought, not letting them ruin my melancholy.

I continued on my way, kicking up leaves and tiny rocks until the sun came down, a window shade over the lake and it was bed time. A train whistle signaled last call and the stars began their first dance, first one, then another, falling, shooting, while I wished.

All the best, 

Kate