Friday, November 20, 2009

early winter wildflowers

There have been lately these moments, visuals for the most part, unconnected, like a wildflower bouquet.

*There was coming home, after dark, and there on a small tree branch beside the bridge a screech owl sitting there and staring at me. I nearly drove into the creek before I thought to hit the brake and put it in reverse to go back and talk to him/her. And so we sat there together for a few minutes blinking at each other, trying to understand.

*There was the day that the sky was variegated shades of grey, low slung, but unraveled in places and each and every hole in the clouds was filled with a different shade of intense blue.

*There was the tufted bird in a stall eeeeeeking like a bat almost, high pitched, before it flitted away.

*There was the day the whole sky surrounded us in a cloud, all day, and even when it "cleared" you could only see maybe 300 feet.

*There was the small, maybe four or five foot tall sapling at the edge of the forest that still had its leaves, maybe 10 of them in all, with the tip top three bright red, the middle four yellow, and the bottom three fading green . . . and all so bright in a forest of muted by winter to greys and browns that it looked like a hunter had hung a flag to find his way but instead it was mother nature who had hung her flag and would take it away in a few days to fool any who would find their way by going backward.

*There is that grey and brown that is the winter palette, more colorful in its own way than all the contrived color in the world.

*There is the shag carpet of leaves in the forest now, and loud and raucous they are when you walk through them, and nice when they are in the forest but less welcome when they blow onto the porch and get tracked through the house.

*There is "yoga tree" visible again . . . a big oak twisted thirty feet from the ground and bent over in a perpetual bow during the big spring winds but hidden by the leaves when they grew and I missed it all summer even knowing it was hiding there.

*There is the goat who comes on the porch nightly to ask for her supper . . . and gets it, and we watch her bag to see when she may kid.

This week we marked a milestone: we dried the cow up. Well, we didn't have much to do with it but rather decided to stop milking for so little milk. We've at least found a cow we like if we can manage to arrange transportation for her (she's about 100 miles away).

6 comments:

karen said...

Thanks for sharing these moments in the pause that is late fall. Such a special time of year, the wildness of color over, the black and white beauty yet to arrive. I also have my favorite trees that speak to me when their silvery beauty is revealed. It is like seeing an old friend when they are finally free of their summer cover. Karen from CT

annettelikesrain said...

Totally unrelated, but please, for the love of all that is holy and/or sacred and/or not... please don't judge McCarthy's book by the movie All the Pretty Horses. I mean, I love Billy Bob, and I do NOT think that a movie has to follow a book. But this is one of those times I just have to say, the movie just... well, y'know.

Sorry to rant.

CG said...

I liked the movie! Lots of themes touched upon therein, and scenery that I always think I've seen from horseback at some time in history.

annettelikesrain said...

Well shoot. Part of the problem might have been that I'd recently reread Blood Meridian (my favorite, and not for the faint). I haven't read any McCarthy in a year or so, so maybe it's a good time to give the movie another go...

For that matter, it seems a good time to dive back into McCarthy again, too. Hmmm, beware the solemn cloud of Southern Gothic I will be for a while ;-)

Have you read much of his stuff, by the way?

CG said...

never any. I'm very taken at the moment with Gaiman. Anansi Boys is totally charming. Very unlike most Brit lit, he knows how to use a plot.

Alecto said...

I loves Neil Gaiman with all my heart and soul. I'm pretty sure American Gods is still my favorite but I do bounce back and forth a bit.

And then there are his Sandman comics, erm, illustrated novels or whatever they're called (grown up comic books already). Fabulous reads.

Oh yeah, back on the subject. You've reminded me to open me damned eyes again and stop all the internal mucking about.