This time there were two piles of coyote scat on the footbridge. Zinnia was back in the muddy water under the bridge but Fate scooped up the fresh scat, reluctantly dropping it when I told her too.
At least 20 degrees warmer than it’s been this past week, with a bright setting sun, and the election results looming, it was the perfect time for a walk in the woods.
I stayed on the path knowing the ticks would be plentiful and was surprised by the sudden temperature changes.
I still don’t know what caused them.
Once over the bridge, I was confronted with a wall of icy cold air that lingered for a short while then dissolved like ice melting in warm water. At one point the heat was so damp and dense it made me think that the forest was having hot flashes, not unlike my own. The smell of warm leaves brought back a fall melancholy that always feels like it’s much older than I am. Then I’m back in the moment, the temperature unremarkable on my skin.
Except for the pines and Quaking Aspens, the trees were bare, their leave below me instead of above.
Which is why I was surprised to hear a chorus of leaves accompanying the honking of migrating Canada Geese. I stopped and looked up.
An oak tree towered above me, its long young trunk, reaching slightly above the canopy. A pompom of rusty yellow and burnt orange leaves waved at me like a thousand hands.
I stood, my face tilted up, my spine lengthening to better wallow in the greeting. I see you, I thought, you marvelous tree alone with your leaves.
That’s when the setting sun turned his eye to the crown of the tree, making an outline of leaves glow yellow and warm.
I waited for the sun to move on and the wind to stop before continuing down the path.
I did not listen to the news today, knowing that the results of the election could be days in coming and that Jon would keep me updated. There’s nothing to do but worry about it now anyway.
So I’d rather do my work in peace and visit with the woods.