Mountain Apples

Yesterday was grey, clouds leaden, so heavy burdened that they hung low; low enough to touch the rising mist, mountain's breath lifting and settling in slow, easy respiration.

The rain came small, tiny droplets that shivered as they rolled down our warmth to find puddles on the pavement, or sink into a welcoming Earth. Remember the comics, when you were a kid, and the cartoonist drew rain in thin lines? Like that, looking through the window or standing out in it, thin silver lines punctuated with bits of crystal, slanting down almost like some great wet spider was creating an aqueous web.

Mum and I took our time - slow, lazy morning with coffee and Internet for breakfast, and then down to the basement where we played with wool roving, silk roving, yarn...and made the base for a project I hope to complete in the next two weeks. I'll post pictures when I am home again, as I have no camera dock here at Mum's place.

We went to the gallery, and then on Northwards to a little farm in hopes of pumpkins. Score! We have done our part to thin the herd of large orange critters, and even managed to get a fair lot of little ones, too, as well as a large glass jug of cider (the sort with the floaty bits in, the best kind for mulling) and an apple fritter as big as my head. We even got a freebie - a tremendous white pumpkin that will require help lifting (and I'm no weakling!) to get it out of the van. Seven large, thirteen small, and one giant - there will be plenty of pumpkin fun in the coming week!

We had to take a brief (eternal) detour to the Chevy dealership because mum's van was acting odd - turns out she needed a new alternator. Just as well our plans, much like the day, were fluid. We ended at an auction, which deserves a post of its own - suffice it to say (for now) that auctions in a small town are as good as a movie.

Today the sky is pale, deep, clear, the air crisp; it's a mountain apple, that snaps when you bite into it and leaves it's tartness in your mouth, a lingering reminder of the fruit. The sun, golden honey warmed and poured in a curtain, slanted through the trees behind the house and gently reminded me that day had come. A few dust motes, flecks of cinnamon and nutmeg, glinted in the honeyed curtain of light. It was a good morning to stretch, yawn, close my eyes again briefly, and feel the benediction of Earth and Sky.

Today, now that we are both up and have fed (on the banana bread I brought with me and our ever-necessary Internet), we'll be trotting out to: A tiny town that is celebrating its continued existence as only a tiny town can; an old mill converted to an antiques mall/shopping center because both the bookstore and the art store are having sales - how can we resist??; to another local purveyor of large, orange, globular vegetation to see if any punkins need a home. There may or may not be stops at the local artisan's shop where one may purchase socks or yard art with equal facility, popping in at my lotion purveyor (I am out, the heat is running in our home, and if I don't get more lotion soon I will be able to sand wood with the palms of my hands and sell my face as a replacement for alligator), and a jaunt to a graveyard or two.

Off we go to find adventure...