Comment by SondraK, Queen of my domain — November 24, 2012 @ 2:29 pm
Yep, I’m with ya on that.
Favorite time’a year.
Comment by DougM (Well, thaaat sucked!) — November 24, 2012 @ 2:34 pm
How’dju know I spent 3 hours rakin up maple, tulip tree, chinaberry, bay, red oak, and sycamore leaves this mornin?
Years ago, I’d sometimes get to feelin close to Mother Nature and write a story or poem or somethin to capture the emotions surging around in me. For some reason I stopped writing poetry . . . prob’ly ‘cause there ain’t no money in it and nobody reads it anyway.
Still . . . if you can’t enjoy, or at least appreciate, those fundamental pleasures, those basic satisfactions, those instinctive, almost atavistic reactions, those visceral resonances, those elemental euphorias that puppies feel, that kittens feel, that children feel from something as simple as a shaft of sunlight on their backs, a satisfying fulfillment of a good meal in the belly, a blissful memory dredged up from an older time by an aroma, a taste, a sound . . . then your humanity axis needs realignment.
What the hell am I talking about? Well, it’s like this: a walk with Monsterdog along starlit roads with gemstones of dew sparkling in the grass and diamonds of light twinkling in the pre-dawn sky, clean air chilled to 40 degrees, smell of fresh coffee from one house and bacon frying from another, a glass of orange juice to wash down the morning prescriptions, a warm 60-pound Australian Shepherd still aromatic and fresh from his bath yesterday, two soft, cool pillows, and a heavy comforter pulled up over my head to chase away the chill in my legs and trunk as I listen to Mozart and Strauss and Vivaldi on the classical music TV channel.
It don’t git much better’n’at. And there’s half a roast chicken in the fridge, too, and it’s got my name on it. I also saw some fresh cinnamon rolls by the toaster oven.
Ditto with Geezerette and Peggy. No leaves, no crickets, no songbirds, no sun, November
Comment by Paul Moore — November 25, 2012 @ 1:43 am
Leaves are all down, except a few stubborn oaks, but the bluejays, cardinals, woodpeckers, and titmice provide some background music. Yesterday morning, a large flock of sandhill cranes circled way overhead and trilled for me.
The wind too strong and cold for a tree stand this morning, I chose a semi-sheltered spot on the ground from which to fill the freezer with venison. The problem is someone forgot to invite the deer. I suspect they were up late partying, with the silver disco ball lighting up the cornstalk dance floor in its gibbous glory. Hoping I’ll spy a few co-eds in their hung-over walk of shame.