We are stardustJoni Mitchell
We are golden
And we’ve got ourselves
Back to the garden
It was a sparking do-something day, as we say around here.* In the depths of autumn, here was a lone crisply sunny day between long strings of continuous rainfall days. I quickly cancelled my indoor plans (mostly involving sitting in front of a computer) and set out to visit Elk Rock Garden – beautiful in any weather, but a day like this can’t be passed up!
In honor of my geezer-hood, gimpy this and tender that, my eyes stayed down for a better foothold on the damp leaf-strewn path. Still I knew exactly what was overhead; the deep leafy carpet changed from large yellow maple leaves, to smaller red maple leaves, to the ochres and browns of oak. Red berries and furled russet bark droppings from the peeling madrone lay interspersed with twigs and needles. And if I could only photograph the smells – it all combined with powerful winter smells that told a story of pine. Sometimes it was an olio of everything at once. Aromatherapy did its work and somehow in spite of a turbulent head and heart, I was filled with joy, and my heart felt light.
Glimpses of snowy Mount Hood, sparkling and winking in the sun, leapt out as occasional partings of branches opened up views to the Willamette River below. There was The Mountain in the distance, almost touching distance.
I am grateful for this November, and its multitude of gifts.
*The title of the first book our daughter learned to read Way Back When (by Joe Lasker)