floating leaves

The wind is whisking the leaves into the air. As I drive down the winding roads, through the tree tunnels and past sheep pastures, the bright yellow leaves seem to almost pause in the air. I would like to videotape them and make a nature replica of the plastic bag video that kid taped in American Beauty. The chill in the air engulfs our new home. With the stove going out more than staying on, the damp sticks to your bones in a way that only porridge and folk lore can seem to remedy. My role as Little MiZ. Molly Homemaker has been challenged this week when, left to my own devices, I spent more time sulking than I did being productive. Then all out of the blue, the pumpkin needed to be made into muffins and the seeds roasted. The garden needed weeding and the wood chopping. My man came home for a whirlwind day of loading logs into the shed and more chopping and planting lavender and planting bulbs and making chilli and making love. Now he is gone again.

I have pumpkins to carve with the wee ones later on in the week and have a list a mile long of things to write about. My number one priority is to get back to the forest. This time of year is too good to waste lamenting damp wood and cheep coal.