So many words remind me of songs … and this is a big one!
For me, that would probably mean dogs, cats, birds, horses … and anything going on in New England in the Autumn. And, okay … those first few minutes after snow has fallen when the world is hushed and completely white, blanketed in snow so that every little thing is hidden by that perfect white frosting.
I hope you will find this all quite captivating. It makes me years to go out and shoot a few more pictures. Except today, we are off to the Motor Vehicle Bureau because — yes, it has come around again and Garry is past 75 and he has to go in and prove he can see and understand simple instructions. I think from this point on in our lives, we are never going to escape again.
At least we can still renew the registration by mail. I’m going to try to deal with this with as little stress as I can manage. Thing beautiful images, oh self. Think sunrise and mountains and rivers and don’t think about bureaucrats.
Today, I am thinking captivating, beautiful
The last two days were gorgeous. Warm enough for shirtsleeves, but not hot. It was perfect late April weather.
Today, the rain has returned. I don’t mind rain. It’s a gray day with a steady rain falling. After nearly a decade of drought, having rain a couple of days a week is just fine, thank you. I can use the shower and not worry we’ll run out of water!
According to the Official Meteorologists on TV, tomorrow will be all blue skies again. Today, though, we will stay inside and watch the rain fall. It’s not as cold as it was last week. Cool, but not uncomfortable.
It’s a good day for a warm book while cuddled with dogs.
My mind struggles through the fog. Who is that? I hear voices and recognize them. My mom, her sister (my aunt) Pearl. And associated uncles and … who else? My cousin Ruthie?
I’m dreaming because I do know they have all passed. My mother passed more than 30 years ago, the others during the last five years. For some reason, they’ve rented a suite of rooms at a (nice) motel, but no one seems to have remembered to invite me.
I get the phone number and I hurry over, knocking loudly on the door. Suddenly, it’s clear and bright. My Aunt answers the door.
“Your mother can’t talk to you right now,” she said. Kindly. Warm. “Soon,” she says.
“But I need to talk to her, please!” I beg. Finally, my mother comes and she looks a lot younger than I do these days, younger than she was when she passed away so long ago.
“Mom, please tell me …” and I know that she has something terribly important I need to know, but I don’t know what that is.
She smiles. “I will, but I have something else to do first …” and she turns and goes back into the room while the fog closes in around me.
“Mom, don’t go!” I wail.
But she’s gone. I know whatever the secret she is keeping from me is lost. I don’t even know what the secret is. All I know is if I knew that answer, everything would be okay. Everything would be better than okay.
I can’t see her anymore. The mist has taken her and the motel is gone. I’m awake, sort of and I’m so sad. Because I will never know the secret my mother holds, will never even know what important thing I need to know.
And everywhere, there is fog.
It is a gray, misty, drizzly morning during a gray time of year. The dogs are quiet. They don’t like rain. They will romp joyously in snow, but rain makes them hunker down and curl up. They obviously intend to sleep until the sun comes out.
Tomorrow. That should be a sunny day again and everything, everyone, will be brighter.
It is already December. The march to winter grinds along, though so far, it has been merely chilly. And dry. So far, so good.
This week’s topic is the colors of the sense of seeing. This week you can post anything that stimulates or delights you visually. Be creative and have fun. Feel free to dig around in your archives for photos if you don’t have anything new.
The thick morning fog fills the valleys and envelopes the mountains surrounding Peacham, Vermont.
When the sun comes up, the fog will burn away, leaving no trace.