In between times

Day of the Dead offered us a special, spooky gift from the Otherworld this year- a perfect 12 inches of pure, white snow to cloak our world and allow us a window of time outside of time. Every surface was covered, and for the first day, the sky itself seemed to follow the sentiment. It was white on white on white, a perfect canvas; a magical mirror into the Day and into our hearts.

When the snow is blowing and the wind threatens death by treefall, us mortals retreat to the safety of our hearths, and often, subsequently, into the enigmas of our hearts. Day of the Dead. The in between time. The start of a new season, and, according to some, a new year. Can I still myself enough, by the warmth and safety of my hearth, to listen to the whispers of my heart?

12 inches of freshly fallen snow bequeaths to us a blank canvas, upon which both Life and Death imprint their marks. The bright coal red glow of freshly fallen maple leaves, the gold which is hickory leaves, the sassafras mittens- they all rest upon the white canvas, then slowly melt into it. Their gentle and impermanent imprints are reflective of the very nature of Life itself, making its mark for a brief moment of time, then returning to the the earth and its collective pool of Life-sustaining ingredients. The deer and coyotes leave their tracks, wandering here and there, in search for food and Life. Death begets Life. Hopey uncovers a bloody, half eaten rabbit from the snow on the ridge on Sapling Mountain. I carefully retrace my own imprints when the light lengthens and the wind feels colder and I can feel the beckon of the hearth. A young bear head rots in the snow, skull partially exposed.

Tomorrow the snow will finish melting, and autumn will pick up where it left off when a special kind of Winter intercepted it two nights ago. Tonight the moon rises over the great white blanket and its cold, long glow through the shadowy tree fingers will leave an impression upon our hearts.

Sassafras

Fall Squash Harvest, Phase 1

Neck pumpkin, candy roaster, butternut, sugar baby. More to come.

Sunday

Picks of the day: my fine, fine sister and honey locust seed pods.

The combination of the two: a daylight savings jam session in the sun to the Jackson Five's Rockin Robin, using bean pods as shakers.

Rating: A++

Visions from the boardwalk: Crossing paths with Queens

The family beach trip was a four-generation whirlwind of

playing            eating               swimming              safety monitoring               sunburning           cleaning up         cooking

salt air exhaustion            logistical orquestrating                arguing            laughing           drinking                



My nephew, the rosy, tousled wave swimmer



alligator watching...                           You get the picture. There was nary a moment to pause and ponder, as some of us who reside in tucked back mountain hollers are inclined to occasionally do, and the time went by in the blink of a saltwater bloodshot eye.

We returned to our various homes fatigued and suntanned, to settle in for the fall of the season, the lengthening of the night, the survival of another dark spell. I returned home with visions from the boardwalk burned upon my memory like the sun upon my pale spots. Tired, hungry and bleary-eyed children, rosy from the sun and surf. The ever-lengthening shadow of my sister and I holding hands on the way back to the car.

The straggling train of eclectic and wonderful human beings that is my family. The perfect and soft breeze drifting across the dunes, upon which thousands of Queen Butterflies travelled tirelessly south, their family path crossing ours at the boardwalk. Like us on our mecca to the source of all life on earth, the Queens didn't stop on their journey south to ponder what they were doing. And that didn't make their flight anything less than absolutely stunning.



My other nephew, fearless.



Notice my 2-yr-old godson leading the pack, way up ahead.