Cold feet in thick socks
Cold nose and chill fingers
Mid-September coolness seeps
Despite sweaters and jackets and hats.
More leaves are gathering in uneven sweeps,
Yellow and orange and red scattered roadside fragments
While the clouds lower grey brows close to the rooftops
And the heavy dew silvers almost into frost.
Warm and sweet with the scent of gentle rot
Thick air like soup blurring the moon
Pockets of yellow on shields of green
Heavy dewfall soaking the earth
Last breaths of summer slipping through the chill
A season on the fence, teetering uncertainly
Unwilling to go
Unable to stay.
Sometimes, you just have to get out of the house. Too often, I know I ought to get out and go for a walk, and end up ignoring that thought — and regretting it later. After all, the dishes aren’t going to do themselves! Nor is the laundry. But walking is good for inspiration, as well as health. Plus, at this time of year, there are fewer mosquitoes and blackflies to make the stroll less pleasant (although leave it to me to attract the last of the sluggish and most stubborn skeeters in the woods . . .) And as much as I’d like to think I’ll get all the chores done that I want to get done, that’s not likely, either. Ever. So today, I got out of the house with my pooch and enjoyed an hour’s jaunt along one of the ski trails behind our community centre.
I hope you enjoy my pics, all taken with my iPhone (with the chance of drizzle, I didn’t want to take my camera) — scroll over each or click to see the captions. 😀
She’s delighted to be off-leash and able to chase after all the smells.
Slow down so I can get a good picture, Skittles!
So much to smell, so little time . . .
It seems I must hurry to catch up — she keeps checking back on me.
Companion stumps, one whole and one — well, stumped!
There’s just something aesthetically pleasing here.
Something infinitely majestic about the moss-covered stump. An infant Ent, perhaps? Or a cozy for the winter home for tiny creatures?
Tired from chasing geese and scattering clouds, the dragon sprawls lazily on a favourite boulder to watch the sky turn above. He pants, dog-like, hopeful that a few curious chipmunks might wander too close and become his afternoon snack . . .
The ground is spongy muck in places, reinforced here and there by mounds of sawdust and planks of wood in anticipation of the coming ski season.
My happy dog Skittles, waiting for me to begin walking again. Hurry up, Mom! There’s more to explore!
If only I could know what she’s thinking . . . probably something along the lines of, “Squirrel!”
If it’s an ogre, it’s patiently waiting for the next move in the game of chess hidden in the grasses and shrubbery on the ground. If it’s a dragon, I’m thankful that it’s not hungry! Just watchful, waiting for me to move on so it can continue reading its book. But perhaps it’s something else entirely. A wizard, maybe, concealed under a massive cloak and hat, meditating on the changes taking place within the forest realm . . .
I almost wish I’d seen this during the deluge of rain over the last week. Charming rivulets turned to rushing currents and churning eddies alongside the path — wonderful and frightening both at once.
Autumn peeks out from behind the skirts of summer, smiling with increasing confidence at the world around it . . .
Leaves as red as lipstick, like Autumn has enjoyed a raspberry popsicle and left a bright kiss on Summer’s cheek.
Random patterns of red remind me of the fairies dancing in Fantasia, tiptoeing and jumping from leaf to leaf, transforming green to red.
Eat not the mushroom on the forest floor . . . Imagine if it were a gnome’s hat, concealing his presence as he hides just under the surface of the earth. If you were brave enough to lift it straight up, would you see his bald little head and the tips of his ears poking out?
Maybe it’s not a hat at all — maybe it’s a door, cleverly camouflaged by the screen of brush behind it? An illusion to discourage humans from knocking, but those in the know might turn the little doorknob and venture within the opening that appears in the air around it . . .
Or maybe it’s a creature itself, head sunk within its shoulders and arms pulled behind it until I pass by. Its navel is the only sign that it’s a creature at all. Would it be ticklish? Or, if I brushed my finger along that darling belly button, would I get a nip for my troubles from its sharp little rows of teeth?
The path curves on, down and to the left . . . then to the right . . .
In a fairy tale, Grandmother’s thatch-roofed cottage might lie just beyond that curve . . . or a moss-covered castle. Maybe a rocky troll’s bridge.
So easy to imagine tiny citizens of this Mushroom Town, hurrying to shelter whenever the giants pass by.
What if these benches were enchanted? What if they are meant for magick folk alone, and to sit upon one turns you into something else, or sends you to another realm?
Why are they separated? What angst and disruption has divorced this mushroom couple from each other? Was it accident or tragedy? Perhaps one, sheltering their children, couldn’t reach the other before their road was covered in an impassible mudslide. Perhaps, rather than fighting, they yearn to be reunited.
I will tell you the story of the Giants who hold sway over this land. Be always aware, for they show neither mercy nor kindness to the fungi who wander into their way . . .
The forest seems to be ignoring the approaching end of summer. There is still so much life to be seen, tucked away from the houses and sidewalks and roads . . .
One of the first lessons we learn when we’re children, I think, and walking in nature: don’t eat the red berries. Always fascinating how their bright colours tempt us so much . . .
The flowers refuse to lie down until Nature covers them with their comfy blanket of snow. It will happen, soon.
Beware the stillness of the pool, And the hulking shape beside, The hungry maw is broad and cruel To snatch thirsty travellers inside!
Lacking a bridge to hide under, the troll chooses a still pool beside which to hunker down and wait. Woe betide the unwatchful fawn or careless bear cub venturing in for a drink!
Come on, I had to take a selfie — got my pretty scarf on that I made by myself!
From a distance, it almost looks like confetti. Easy to see how nature inspired pointillists and impressionists of the past. I wish I could paint.
Which way would she choose, if Skittles were on her own? No barbecues or wood fires on the wind today . . .
It’s not snowy woods, but still the question remains: which path to take? Which is the less traveled by?