October 23, 2020
I’m convinced that the recent spike of CoViD cases in Wisconsin is due to the onrush of cold weather. People are scrambling to hold family gatherings, attend athletic events, and visit that restaurant one last time before we all dig in for the winter. For my part, the weekly trips to my “office” outside a local coffee shop have come to an abrupt end. It’s a crying shame, but I had a good run.
The hills surrounding my town are looking a little rusty now that we’re past the peak of fall color. I’m pleased at how long this fall has lasted, reminding me of my four years “up north”. The window in which the weather matches the colors, however, is rapidly closing. It truly is time to move indoors (and lay the garden to rest).
Still, there are a few days each fall when I get the uncanny sense that I’ve stepped into a time machine. Something about the wind, the moisture in the air, and the occasional robin makes it seem more like March or early April than October. Last night’s rain, which caused the river to flood like it does every spring, has added to the feeling. I like the idea, however foolish, that this change in weather could mean a fresh start to the year.
Yet spring it is not. Winter isn’t quite here, either — we still have the dreaded November to plod through. But if a fresh start is on the way, it will have to involve mostly indoor activities. Writing is one of these. Music is another. This season could be a very “productive” one for me. (I’m crossing my fingers so that you know I’m not making any promises.)
Whatever this turning inward might bring for everyone, I hope the net result is calm and renewal. I hope that when we emerge in the — actual, legitimate — springtime, we’ll be ready to face whatever new challenge gets thrown our way.
“And surely as you breathe the gentle air of peace, this land shall shelter in the light.” – The Tannahill Weavers
Driftless Grace 