Stilettos, Stoli & Scribbles ~ Served With A Twist

Autumn is a bittersweet time for many people, me included. Whether it’s the imprinting of childhood — summer is over, hot weather pastimes are put aside and it’s back to the work of life, or the memories of sweet autumns past that won’t be relived — I feel more than nostalgia. I feel a tender melancholy that is somehow allayed by the glory of Fall.

The angle of the Sun shifts and the quality of the light is palpably altered. The air smells different — the verdance of growing, ripening things is replaced with the drier, crisper scent of trees and plants winding down to dormancy.

I love where I live and the peace that comes with the changing season when the hard work of summer gardening is past, and I wake each morning eager to see how much more the leaves have turned overnight into the stained glass view of the world that alters my perspective and eases my heart. Right now, much is still green, but the bright reds, yellows and oranges, and the more muted browns and golds, make a glorious tapestry that is endlessly fascinating to me, like a kaleidoscope constantly shifting and creating new images.

If I could roll back the years to other Octobers shared with My Darling Husband, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but this is my new normal. Gazing at the views we loved so, that he worked so hard to open through the dense forest, that Fergus and I now enjoy together. Laughing at Fergus bounding through fallen leaves and bringing me pine cones from the garden.

The view that Keith made

I’ll pull on one of his sweaters when the air gets crisp, and wrap the love around me like the best hug ever. And cuddle with my puppy.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

                             —Robert Frost