There was ridiculously thick fog down on the flats this morning. Real cotton batting stuff. Couldn't even see the fields next to the road. There was an occasional driver oblivious to reality so of course I urged them to turn their lights on. It's dangerous not to when fog is that thick. Not that they could hear me. I can't seem to stop wanting to save the world. Given how much of humanity dismays me, that is a constant surprise.
Fog covered everything, the road in front of the car only visible at the last moment, until rising a hill you suddenly broke through into sunlight and flame colored trees against crystal blue skies.
I love how a moment can change everything, light changes everything.
So I turned around and headed back down into the fog, the shapes of trees in the distance a looming darker gray impression in the pale mist. Then I turned to rise again into light and autumn's colors.
I always delight in such things. Have since I was a child. Found myself remembering the patch of woods that I used to go to after my mother's second marriage tore us away from my grandparents and safety.
I'd find badly needed peace in the beauty of those woods, especially in the fall when the leaves turned everything golden, the ground a rustling carpet of yellow. The trees became a cathedral of yellow gold leaves holding up a pale blue sky. I used to climb the trees as high as I could and rest there rocked by the breeze. Safe, where no one could find me.
Until the boy came.
I'd never seen anyone else there before and suddenly there he was with his air gun. I summoned all my courage and asked him what he was doing. Shooting birds, he proudly said. I was outraged and yelled at him, told him to get out, amazed at my own heartbreak and fury. The boy and his thoughtless murder had broken the woods peace and sanctuary.
It was never the same for me after that.
The fields and their trail complex are today's place for peace and wonder. They have been a badly needed gift during these years of pandemic and mindless cruelty. Went back for a sunset walk yesterday, taking the forbidden trail again, not wanting to deal with people, needing the larger less usual view. Needing to see the slanting light of sunset play across the fields and tree line.
Could see people and their dogs on the main trail in the distance, rising and falling from view with the land's topography.
Finally made it to the crossroads and spotted one of the Blue Herons who have made the fields home standing tall in the slanting sunset light — and turned pale pink by it. Sat down on one of the log benches and watched this momentary gift of the light - the bird a surreal pink against a rich green field - its greys and blues slowly returning as the sun sank beneath the horizon.
Then I rose and walked through the twilight towards the parking lot. Along the way one of the regulars said hello and there were puppy kisses and delight from his German Shepard. I let them pass by and watched the dog’s joy in everything as he gamboled down the trail.
This morning's play of fog and light, yesterday's sunset, the Heron standing tall and pink in the green field, a German Shepard's joy, the golden wood, my grandmother's garden and apple tree, all of it has always been my heart's home.
Such things are what I tried to share with the children and grand boys.
They are what I'd give to everyone if I could.
Go gentle and be safe out there, ok?
Love to all.