A Saturday in Our November

The rain was more a mist. The day was grey.

The trees bare now, upside down broomsticks sweeping the dusty sky. The dog didn't want to get wet.

There was roast chicken in the oven and the house smelled of butter and thyme. The trimmed brussels sprouts, so green, reminded of another season, gone. The firewood was ready, old newspapers rolled, companions.

The kids were restless, not enough energy burned today. Oh boy.

The dough for dinner rolls had risen too much and we laughed
These will be some big buns!

And then,
There goes that cuckoo clock again,
Twelve chirps at 6.
Always the 6 o'clock hour, never earlier, never later.

We should really get that fixed.

Last Dance (make it last)

November 13th sunny and clear autumn blue sky and the Oak leaves were falling so slow, thoughtfully as if not to disturb. Shhhh, I don’t wanna make a big deal, let me just go. 

(He just raked you know?)

Three times throughout the day, it caught my eye,  I turned expecting to see someone walking to me, waving Hey! but no.

Oh my goodness. A. Leaf.
Maybe like this,
(testing) see and like….that…weeeeeeeee
a giggle Awwww I don't want it to end
Enjoying its last dance.

I saw each of those three waving, slow dancing, silly leaves through to the finish. To the earth.



We have to rake again on Saturday.

The Summer of Three Turning Four

Maren’s peep toe pumps are done. But I can’t bear to part with them. I wish I could paint a picture of them, to me they are worthy of an oil painting that I would hang over the mantel. We went in May to get summer sandals. Her sisters chose sandals. Sandals they could go hiking in or wear to the beach. Maren didn’t want sandals. These were $28 and had a ½” heel and I tried to talk her out of them, they just weren't practical, I tried to sell her on another idea, but she wouldn’t have it, she had tears, she had an idea, these could be like sandals.  The store clerk cut off the tags and she wore them out the door.  Maren wore these almost every single day all summer and into fall. To school with socks, to the store, on long hikes over rocks and roots, to the beach, fireworks and parades, in the water, through mud puddles, for dancing and running and canoeing. These peep toe pumps ARE the summer of three turning four. They are my Maren. The $40 Keen sandals her sisters agreed to will be passed down, will be worn by someone else next year. But they don't send me spiraling down through our summer memories. They don't make me cry.