Fall is Prarie Dogging
Sorry fall, but you’re being an asshole, or as we northerners like to say, an arsehole
Already there’s a certain kind of light, isn’t there?
It’s subtle but there’s a few drops of pewter in the morning sky and its reflection in the lake is a zap less polished. Also the path is tripped with dirt of a different colour, as if a sprinkle of cinnamon was added to the mix over night.
It’s a nice difference, though, and you get used to in a heartbeat or two
The trees haven’t changed but they have paled from thirst and there’s an aura of rust which makes the coniferous members of the forest seem more deeply tinted, almost blue in contrast. Stand still a minute and you hear the dry leaves clap together and the whole forest’s in a sort of percussion. It’s early and peaceful but there’s something edgy about it and splendidly Grimm, you know, and it’s not so far off the tangled forests of dark fairy tales.
Daisy likes to skitter past me on these stretches.
You can feel summer giving up the ghost
Last weekend I was floating in the Gull River and a leaf started heading my way through the air and I watched it like Forrest Gump watched his leaf (or was that a feather?) and it landed right in front of me and there’s a dam, no n, and a current, so (fuck, it was a feather wasn’t it?) I watched it cartwheel away. Then another one landed. Etc.
The current in that little meridian is perfect. It’s poetry. You can do a nice energetic breast stroke and you won’t move at all which is a pretty glorious way to spend an afternoon and I’m considering a wetsuit so I can continue this into the fall and beyond except I can’t imaging putting one of those things on which reminds me of something I said when I got out of the washroom at the cottage which was an entire month ago if you can believe it.
Do not, I warned my daughters, put a wet bathing suit on in front of a mirror
My kids are my perfect audience. They collapse easily into laughter.
You know when you read something and it perfectly slides into your head? Well open up wide because here’s a little Kurt Vonnegut gem:
In the water, I am beautiful
I relate. You relate?
Not so much on land though where things get a little or a lot awkward sometimes. Like on the path this morning when those roots got me again and big time. I’ve never seen anyone else have any trouble with them at all. Maybe my head is in the clouds which is a romantic way of saying maybe I’m peculiar, I don’t know, and every time I trip I am very surprised and usually express my shock in reflex-profanity and then I forget all about the roots until next time.
Sometimes my trips are spectacular in themselves and sometimes it’s my recovery that’s spectacular, but I usually am not propelled so much as I was today.
I went down, quickly bounced, and got right back up again
I was in a wide open area not unlike a great big stage but I don’t think anyone saw me. It happened so quickly I wasn’t even sure it actually happened except for the dirt on my knee, hip, and cheek/ear/lip. Daisy and I had a chuckle – hers was leaning slightly toward a cackle – and that was that.
But back to the river and being beautiful
Even when I am nowhere near the river I can find a drop and float it right in the middle my head and Suppose A River which sounds like a really nice story title, doesn’t it? Three two one and I feel the rim of water between nose and mouth, exhale one scant tbsp so that my ears slip under and it’s suddenly intimate as a dream.
