fall, rain & colours
It was sunny when we started out on our walk. There was a coolness and the air smelled damp. Leaves had left a dark stain of their dying colours in the gravel of the drive, here and there, and then were blown away.
On the grapevine flung over a couple small buckthorn and hawthorn trees, the leaves were turning golden. The grapes, purple black, some with a silvery bloom on the skin, broke open in my mouth, the skin sliding off the sweet flesh, the flavor ripe like blackberries. I licked my fingertips, purpled with the juice of the grapes.
A bee poked and prodded amongst the aster blooms. Ivy flared red over the cedar-rail fences.
Black clouds rolled up from the west. A fine cold rain began to fall. I wondered if I would have time to walk around to the far side of the meadow before the rain started in earnest. The breeze nudged loose the yellowing leaves and one my one, they lazily whirled downward.
Far overhead, geese honked to each other and the wind. One, two, three skeins went swiftly by from the north. A lazy hawk circled and circled just above the treeptops near the lake. Crows told tales of other time travels. Blue jays tried out new noises, imitating each other, congregating into loose flocks, making raucous jokes. There was a tension in the air.
The beagle was ecstatic. Her happiness bounced her over fences, took her in leaps flying over the fields of alfalfa. Then, it broke forth from her in shrieking barks:
"The coons are over here, over here, in the cornfield! Come! Over here!"
The silky blooms of fall crocus surprised me amongst the dying foliage.
My landlords' father was in his garden and called out.
"Looks like a real fall day!"
He drove his old blue truck by my door on his way home, stopped and offered me some green peppers. He had dug up his glad bulbs and had lined them up on the tailgate of the truck in neat bunches, the stalks and leaves still green. The peppers overflowed a box in the corner.
"Here! Take some more," he urged, his eyes gentle and kind. In the damp wind threatening rain, his eyes watered a little, in the manner of old men. His whiskery stubble glimmered as if he had been dipped in silver. My heart broke a little. "B." has to be one of the most open-hearted, dignified men I have ever known. His gait was slow and stooped, so I knew his back was bothering him again.
"I can't. My freezer is full and if I take more they'll spoil on me!" I protested.
"There's more that will spoil anyway." He gestured towards his garden.
I took another pepper. "B." waved away my thanks and climbed into his truck. Clutching the waxy, dark green fruits to my chest with one hand, I opened the door with the other, bearing my gifts inside.
The rain came down.
On the grapevine flung over a couple small buckthorn and hawthorn trees, the leaves were turning golden. The grapes, purple black, some with a silvery bloom on the skin, broke open in my mouth, the skin sliding off the sweet flesh, the flavor ripe like blackberries. I licked my fingertips, purpled with the juice of the grapes.
A bee poked and prodded amongst the aster blooms. Ivy flared red over the cedar-rail fences.
Black clouds rolled up from the west. A fine cold rain began to fall. I wondered if I would have time to walk around to the far side of the meadow before the rain started in earnest. The breeze nudged loose the yellowing leaves and one my one, they lazily whirled downward.
Far overhead, geese honked to each other and the wind. One, two, three skeins went swiftly by from the north. A lazy hawk circled and circled just above the treeptops near the lake. Crows told tales of other time travels. Blue jays tried out new noises, imitating each other, congregating into loose flocks, making raucous jokes. There was a tension in the air.
The beagle was ecstatic. Her happiness bounced her over fences, took her in leaps flying over the fields of alfalfa. Then, it broke forth from her in shrieking barks:
"The coons are over here, over here, in the cornfield! Come! Over here!"
The silky blooms of fall crocus surprised me amongst the dying foliage.
My landlords' father was in his garden and called out.
"Looks like a real fall day!"
He drove his old blue truck by my door on his way home, stopped and offered me some green peppers. He had dug up his glad bulbs and had lined them up on the tailgate of the truck in neat bunches, the stalks and leaves still green. The peppers overflowed a box in the corner.
"Here! Take some more," he urged, his eyes gentle and kind. In the damp wind threatening rain, his eyes watered a little, in the manner of old men. His whiskery stubble glimmered as if he had been dipped in silver. My heart broke a little. "B." has to be one of the most open-hearted, dignified men I have ever known. His gait was slow and stooped, so I knew his back was bothering him again.
"I can't. My freezer is full and if I take more they'll spoil on me!" I protested.
"There's more that will spoil anyway." He gestured towards his garden.
I took another pepper. "B." waved away my thanks and climbed into his truck. Clutching the waxy, dark green fruits to my chest with one hand, I opened the door with the other, bearing my gifts inside.
The rain came down.
posted by Kati at 11:09 p.m.
2 Comments:
How lovely... I feel like I was along for the walk. :)
Misty and Molly look like fine companions for a walk. thanks for sharing
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