|More Socrates! Ask those probing questions, make those seniors THINK!|
This was good stuff. But then things got better. The drive to the conference was gorgeous--all hills, valleys, changing fall colors and scenic farm fields. The instructor suggested a half hour lunch break so we could leave earlier at the end of the day. My children had a satisfying go at trick-or-treating despite a serious breach of tradition this year. Happyland High won the playoff game.
I should have bought some lottery tickets, right?
This morning Mr. G had a basketball tournament, but took a seat on the bench during the second game because he couldn't breathe. After the game (and he has a good coach, who made sure he had water and let him sit out the rest of the game), I called the doctor's office and got him in immediately. Bronchitis. One Z-pack from the drugstore drive-thru later, the poor kiddo was wrapped in my pink snuggie playing Madden 12 while coughing up his left lung.
I hope the sickness ends with him and Mr. G is grateful he doesn't have ebola. Funny kid. But because he got sick and we came home early from basketball, my floor got swept, the laundry got washed, Mr. D's birthday cake got baked and frosted and I read 150 blog posts in my Feedly reader.
This was all enormously fulfilling but then I took a walk in the woods this afternoon.
It's so quiet now. Frost has silenced the crickets and frogs. Birds call, but no longer sing. A woodpecker steadily drums against a dead tree. Leaves rustle. The greenest thing I can find is moss growing on fallen logs. I can see everything now that the leaves have dropped. The landscape is branches and the spiky twigs of summer's nettle. Spring's promise and summer's richness covers the ground in layers of dead leaves and seed pods. A lone deer picks its way past on the other side of the creek.
The peace of the afternoon as the sun lowers is what I crave. Even the creek moves slowly, barely a surface ripple, the faintest trickle if you strain to hear it. I admire a hollow tree trunk, the mixture of red and yellow and brown leaves across the paths, the clean curve of a hanging vine and the deep prints left behind in the wet earth. Everything is in plain sight now after the frost and a windstorm, there's no mystery in the woods, just a deep settling-in sort of sigh before winter tucks it in for a long sleep.
Fall is not my favorite time of year, but my favorite place reflects its beauty. I crash through the dried brush, stomped over the dying field grass and returned home, my face ruddy from cold and my spirit refreshed.
Spill it, reader. Where have you felt a break lately?