Back to Autumn

 I have had enough of snow, of this monochrome world. I'm going back to autumn, November 11, to be exact, when most trees were bare but the sun coughed, rose briefly in its deathbed and gave up one last fervent seventy-degree day. On a weekend, no less. Ahhh. Let's go, kids.

Let's go to Dean's Fork and ride our bikes over the ruts and puddles and through the crackly leaves.

 Let's admire the old house that's leaning into the hill, the house that became a barn that became a corral

and now is home to nothing but mice and phoebes and snakes.

Let's marvel at the cerulean sky and what's left of the fiery leaves. Park our bikes and walk awhile.

Let's look at the light of this hour.

We'll sit in the road that nobody much uses and compose. We'll make poems and pictures with scattered light, sticks and trails through the leaves.

We'll compose pictures around a giant foreground dog.

Who suddenly sits to scratch his eye with a deft toenail. Kuff kuff kuff kuff kuff. How does he do it?

You'll walk in and out of the pictures, not guessing your bear-brown outfit is perfect for the setting.

And you'll sit and breathe and soak up the last of the November sun. Your sunglasses, simply criminal, for they hide your ice-gray eyes.

But you like them, and I can't tell you anything any more.

You, young boy, will run to find a stick to tempt your doggie;

hold it above his head in the universal invitation to play.

You'll whirl and laugh and he will, too.

Until the swift chop when he takes it and breaks it.

Then asks for another. He promises not to break this one but you know he lies.

A day so perfect, we must go back

Sharing the light, the log, the dog, the sun and the Snap Pea Crisps

and a happiness so simple and pure that it might flit right by unappreciated, like a small yellow butterfly

on the last warm day in November


Unless we noticed.

Happy New Year. Resolution: To make my own weather in 2011.

Walk On Down a Country Road

Careful kids are a blessing to a mom and dad. Our kids were never the type to stand up in a shopping cart seat; to climb out of their high chairs or topple out of their cribs. They've always been careful, smart about that kind of stuff. Liam's especially cautious. He waited to walk until he was 21 months old; plagued by ear infections and unsure of his balance for all that time, he walked for the first time the very afternoon he had tubes put in his ears. Wearing a triumphant grin, he also climbed aboard a rocking horse he had always refused to ride. On my birthday no less. From fainting dead away in the pre-op room as my baby went under in my arms to seeing that baby walk the same afternoon...what a day that was.

To this day, he's careful, remembering in some inner recess what it is to be out of balance.

Cousin Jake leads the way, hotfooting it across a fallen sycamore. He's careful too, in a self-assured kind of way. Liam's not liking his own odds.

He drops to his seat and scooches without a prompt. That's my boy.

No shame in coming out all in one piece, in hanging on for dear life. Well, life IS dear, and worth hanging on to. I wear my weeny crown with pride. I think it shows how much we value our strong limbs and unbroken bones, this immense gift of health and life. No bungee jumping, no whitewater for me, thanks. No thrill's so great as to be worth your life.

You just take your time.

Chet Baker really wants to trot across the sycamore, and whimpers to be lifted up, but Mether's heart can't take it. I know he'd be fine, but that cliff fall is a little too fresh in my memory.

Nice brindling, Bacon.
He's hangin' wit his homey, Cooper.

What a good looking pair they make. I'm glad Chet finally has a best friend.

Liam fetches up on a boulder, snowy hair backlit in the weak winter sun.

And eases his way down.