Today’s bike ride felt a little like ice boating.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Letting Loose
For three wild days they clung to twig and branch
As the November gale ripped limbs from trunks
And toppled ancient boles.
Then morning broke, clear, and calm, and cold,
And one by one, then many at a time,
The golden leaves let loose, and rattled to the forest floor.
It might have been the frost that bid them go,
Or, it might have been a rhythm eons old.
—JBN
…Ellie riding.
…and a trip to the compost site.
A urine test for Pax (ask Sue how the sample was collected). And a covid test for me—not that I needed one.
Pax seems much better, so the test may have been unnecessary. Sometimes just the threat of visiting the vet is a marvelous restorative. But, we will know know of any chemical imbalances, if they exist, as a result of all this.
I took the covid test just to test the operation—free to anyone, and rapid. I rode my bike to the site at the U, and by the time I got home the result showed up in my email in-box.
And, somewhere in between, we took a trailer full of leaves to the compost site.
The wind vane has swung.
The predicted weather was a long time coming, but eventually we got a brief downpour, though nothing like the tornado we were warned about.
Squash soup on the menu tonight.
And, from Virgil:
These two rules, thou must have always in a readiness. First, do nothing at all, but what reason proceeding from that regal and supreme part, shall for the good and benefit of men, suggest unto thee. And secondly, if any man that is present shall be able to rectify thee or to turn thee from some erroneous persuasion, that thou be always ready to change thy mind, and this change to proceed, not from any respect of any pleasure or credit thereon depending, but always from some probable apparent ground of justice, or of some public good thereby to be furthered; or from some other such inducement.
Not November, but change is in the air.
Not exactly the day one would plan—Pax to the vet, and phone not accepting calls, but in the end, everything fine.
Great fun to see their silent aerial acrobatics against the darkening sky, with Mars rising in the background.
And here, another aerial shot of the park, this time from an altitude of 400 feet, and all the leaves on the ground. (Zoom in enough and you can see the leaves.)
And, here, a poem I find worth reading:
Nothing Is Far
—Robert Francis
Though I have never caught the word
Of God from any calling bird,
I hear all that the ancients heard.
Though I have seen no deity
Enter or leave a twilit tree,
I see all that the seers see.
A common stone can still reveal
Something not stone, not seen, yet real.
What may a common stone conceal?
Nothing is far that once was near.
Nothing is hid that once was clear.
Nothing was God that is not here.
Here is the bird, the tree, the stone.
Here in the sun I sit alone
Between the known and the unknown.
A great day for our country.
Believe This
BY RICHARD LEVINE
All morning, doing the hard, root-wrestling
work of turning a yard from the wild
to a gardener’s will, I heard a bird singing
from a hidden, though not distant, perch;
a song of swift, syncopated syllables sounding
like, Can you believe this, believe this, believe?
Can you believe this, believe this, believe?
And all morning, I did believe….
…across the street, with our little neighborhood group.
And below, just another look at how people are socializing in the time of COVID.
I believe it’s acceptable to use that term. Over 70 after a hard frost. Just about the most perfect weather possible.
Still very up tight about the vote count. Alabama and Mississippi can apparently count, and even Wisconsin, but for some reason not Pennsylvania, Georgia, Arizona, or Nevada.
I need to think of other things.
…but a little better than in the midst of last night’s delirium.
This horse was a beautiful chestnut color yesterday afternoon—until it started watching the returns.
On my very long, head-clearing ride today I almost fell off the bike when a big red-tailed hawk swept close overhead and let out with its blood-curdling scream. Also came across several huge flocks of grackles gathering in prep for their journey south. Incessant chatter—these are sociable birds.
…though doing everything possible so far today to avoid thinking about it. Rearranging the sock drawer, putting all foldable currency in numerical order by serial number….
Actually, trying to help the county Democratic party support voters by providing refreshments….
About 30 voters in line, in Whitewater, at 7:20 A.M.
…to voters stuck in line. However, from 10 until four (our shift) there was no line, just a steady stream. This could be a positive indication that all the early voting has reduced the necessity of standing in line.
Now, on to the rest of the evening…….!!!~~***^^$#@!^&*()_+!
…in shallow places.
And perfect weather for tilling the garden, which should be done in autumn. Eventually, a layer of shredded leaves, on top of which a little compost, on top of which a layer of snow. Then, in the spring, time to grow.
Avoiding most news feeds, and trying to stay calm.
…moving by at a high rate of speed.
Meanwhile, up with the bird feeder.
…during COVID time.
Sue made up 100 TP-wrapped candy clusters, and they are out in the driveway to minimize the chance of contagion. Surprisingly, lots of kids coming by—more than any year previous.
Pax and I stay indoors, because Pax is SCARY, and barks a lot when people come to the house. This new system works really well—Pax hasn’t barked yet. Of course, things would be different it we had typical Halloween weather—cold, with freezing rain.
But we don’t.
Although the larder is full, we picked up chili at our favorite breakfast place in Milton, partially because we haven’t been able to have breakfast there for the past eight months, and because we are hoping to have breakfast there once again—as soon as there is a national covid plan.
It’s also nice not to have to cook—every so often.
This Albanian family was doing great—until the virus crippled their business. But they seem resilient and adaptive, and may well survive the pandemic.
…or so said Hoobert Heaver. I’m thanking FDR for the bird in the oven tonight, and looking forward to a new new deal, and then chicken at a restaurant, once the damned virus is dealt with seriously. Go, Joe.
…as an excuse for a scenic drive in the country.
And now Sue is calling 100 voters who have requested absentee ballots but have not yet returned them. That’s a thankless job.
…one more week of angst and dread. The future of our democracy hangs in the balance…come on people.
Aerial shot of Starin Park, soon to be home to an arboretum, I hope.
Just need to mark the date for future reference. And, maybe later, when I have the time, I will flip back one, two, and maybe three years, to late October to see what conditions were back then. Quite sure I don’t want to flip back to early November four years ago.
And for dinner, homemade pizza, using the Pinebox recipe.
…especially in Estes Park, Colorado, where, apparently, the town has been saved from the fires by the snow. The Spaldings, having been evacuated to Denver for the past three or four days, are breathing relief that their home appears spared.
No snow here in Whitewater, but some just a few miles north at Aztalan, where the three of us went for a late afternoon outing, just to get out of the house.