Wednesday, October 5, 2011


October swirls around me, changing all my valley greens to gold. This is where I want to be, in a place where every season speaks a different tongue.

Yes, I feel winter lurking in the chilly nights. But the season also thins the leafy screen that hides my creek all summer long. Now I see the moon at night reflected on the water's face; and by day I see my resident blue heron in the water, sharing lessons in the art of patient fishing.

"Mama Deerest" has been impossible to spot through summer greenery, but now I watch her crossing daily with her brood, strolling leisurely and unconcerned across the creek toward the nests of hemlock, where her family will nest for winter. 

In the frosty darkness of October nights, the leaves no longer hide my skyward view, and I can see the autumn brilliance of the stars.

Some may see October as the loss of summer nights and a harbinger of things that lie ahead, but I'm a creature of the here-and-now, an ardent fan of living-where-I-am. 

I see October as she is, however temporary. 

And I enjoy her while she's here.