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leaves and leaves. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

in the last weeks our hikes have taken on the shuffling gait of autumn…the days when you crunch through the fallen leaves on the trail or even on the sidewalk. it’s crisp out and maybe you are wearing gloves, a warm vest. there is that sound as you walk. it resonates backward in time – and memories of other walks and hikes flood in. having lived in a few different places – distinctly different from each other – gives plenty of fodder.

when i first moved to wisconsin – decades ago now – we drove down one of the main east-west arteries of the city and into a temperature inversion. it was later fall and, apparently, there were homeowners – in the township that has boundaries meandering in and out of the city – burning leaves. the smoke was like a giant blanket, trapped and literally hanging over the road. it was strange to drive from clear daylight into this smoke-filled area – fogged way high up so that you couldn’t see the blue sky when you were in it. i haven’t encountered this since, but the memory of it is still clear. it was early in my time here and it felt unnerving, adding to the feeling of homesickness.

my sweet poppo used to burn leaves. back on long island our home was in front of a woods so there were plenty of trees in our yard. after we raked and raked (and raked) he would burn them, like everyone else. the smell of leaves burning still takes me back there. it brings hot cocoa and marshmallows to mind, my momma adding to the fun. sometimes i’d have friends over and call it a leaf-raking party.

i have snapshots in my mind’s eye – my children playing in leaf piles. towheaded toddlers, mittens, sweatshirts or snowsuits – tumbling and laughing and throwing leaves. neither were raking-fans but there is no denying the pull of a good leafpile.

i’m not doing the raking these days. my wrist can’t handle it. but d doesn’t seem to mind – he loves the physical-ness of raking leaves. there are times i think that it would be exceptionally wonderful to live in a place that is completely natural – where grass is not manicured, leafblowers are unheard of, and leaves are left to become mulch and part of the earth. maybe someday.

in the meanwhile we abide by green biobag rules and rake the extra off our yard, making sure there is plenty still to insulate our plants and to provide frigid-weather shelter for critters. it makes me happy to think of the bunnies who have clearly taken up residence under our deck, tucked into leaves we could never reach.

and – on those days we hike in the woods and the wafting of a distant bonfire reaches us – i stop in the middle of the trail. and, like layers of leaf-smoke blocking the sky for a moment or two, i am wrapped in the embers of memories.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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anticipation. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

there is this corner in our lakefront neighborhood. we take walks around the ‘hood, looking forward to this particular spot.

in the middle of every other nod to autumn, this corner glows. the maples there are in soft focus – all golden and pink. it is like seeing through a filter, stepping under a fresnel spot with a lighting gel. we make room to stop and take it in…each and every time we pass by.

some things are like that. we know them well and, yet, we anticipate them, knowing how they make us feel, knowing that we will be better for them. these trees.

there are spots on our favorite trails like this…when we enter the pine stands or when the trail curves through the forest…when we walk high above the river below us…when we turn into the afternoon sun with the meadow to our right. there is a spot as we come out of the tunnel on the highway and i can see the high rockies stretching out in front of us. there is a spot on the ditch trail in aspen – at the end – deep in the woods where there are rocks you can sit on as the stream breaks around you. there is a fallen log in breckenridge, up a ways on the path, next to the brook. there is another higher, in the meadow that opens to the sky.

someday, i will go stand again where my daughter and i stood, in canyonlands, and i will satisfy the anticipation of being there – in that spot of unspeakable emotion – once again.

someday, i will go stand on crab meadow beach again and – with anticipation and all-that-has-been-since washing over me – maybe i will feel what i used to feel there, way way earlier, the freedom of being, the anticipation of future.

the knowing of these places doesn’t take them off the list of places-to-go. rather, it’s the sheer knowing that keeps them on the list. it’s the recognition, the familiarity, the unbridled comfort.

as we turn the corner and look ahead, we can see the trees down at the next intersection. so much beauty. we both look forward to getting closer.

we are not on a luxurious vacation nor are we rambling much away from our careful budget. we are recognizing the we-are-here-ness and that is what we have right now – we have right now. if we can remember to anticipate each moment this way, we will truly be living.

and then, there is the feeling when we see our driveway, when we walk in the door. the spotlight pulls back and bathes our home in gratitude.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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delicious. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

there was something about how these speckled leaves were nestled that got my attention.

and, in the way that everything makes me think of something else, it also brought to mind the nursery song five little speckled frogs:

“five green and speckled frogs
sitting on a speckled log
eating the most delicious bugs, yum, yum

one jumped into the pool
where it was nice and cool
now there are just four speckled frogs, glub, glub…”

but i digress.

maybe it was the symmetry of the trees. maybe it was the orange and green (which were the exact shades of my growing-up shag rug and the wall-to-wall carpet in our sunroom when we moved in.) maybe it was simply the happenstance of that particular branch of leaves, caught in the little crook made by two trees growing closely together, perhaps inosculated.

whatever the reason, i found it to be a thing of beauty. and those things are out there, everywhere, calling to us – to notice.

i didn’t disturb the leaves. just like i didn’t disturb the blue jay feather i passed on the trail. i left them there – like so many other times – so that others could see them as well.

on the contrary, there have been many snakes on the trail in these last hikes. garter snakes and brown snakes of all sizes – even the tiniest snake i’ve ever seen – sunning on these gorgeous autumn days. but the problem in that is that there are bikers who are populating this trail as well and there have been numerous times we have come across a snake that is deceased or struggling, having been run over by a biker who did not see it.

so, each and every time we see a snake – in the middle of the trail – we stop. we either prompt it to move, escorting it to the side of the trail to which it was headed or, in the case of the struggling or fatally wounded, we pick them up and place them gently in the grass, issuing a tiny blessing and saying, “you are not alone.” we know some of them are in their last moments and, in the way that this universe is all connected, we hope that our holding them for a moment helps them in crossing over.

we immerse in what the trail offers – everything – from helping the tiniest fuzzy caterpillar to taking in a sunset of grandeur. we are grateful for the deep breath it consistently brings to us. we get centered in the step-by-step repetition.

i suppose these are the reasons we find ourselves pondering – imagining – a giant thru-hike in the someday. the opportunity to hold such beauty and be held by such beauty – all around us – is enticing and, surely, delicious.

just like bugs to speckled frogs.

*****

YOU HOLD ME from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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a smidge of flipped. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

it’s like a romper room book – from the back but not turned over. upside down.

or like i had stood on my head to click. which, of course, i didn’t.

a tree – full of leaves reaching, reaching. no shedding here. no drooping. no waning into the pull of autumn. instead, golden leaves – almost brilliant orange – standing on their stems, stretching, dancing.

perspective rearrange. it took me by surprise skimming through the photographs i had taken. a close-up of the leaves – just one other photo – was also flipped.

perhaps there were just a few minutes there – out in the forest – when the world turned upside down.

maybe we just don’t know. maybe that happens all the time…little smidges of time when all is flipped. maybe that’s good. especially when right side up is pokin’ at us a little. reminders to stand tall. reminders to stretch. reminders to dance.

i cannot get diana ross’ fabulous voice out of my head, “upside down, boy, you turn me inside out and ’round and ’round…”

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY


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a chicken and a cow in autumn. [two artists tuesday]

my nephew called. i guess technically he isn’t my nephew now but neither one of us cares about the technicality of it. we talked a couple years ago but not since. no matter. he was ironing and he thought of me. he described how ironing makes you just kind of slow down and lets your mind wander. and so he followed his instinct and dialed. i told him i was glad he wasn’t thinking of me as he was washing the floor. he agreed and said that a washing-the-floor conversation wouldn’t be as whimsical.

whimsical.

i loved how he used that word. we slowed down our hiking, shuffling our feet through the leaves on the trail, david encouraging me to chat. my nephew and i laughed and told stories, asked questions, laughed some more. later, in some text-reminiscing, he asked me if i still had the beer cap earrings he had bought me when we were together up-north many years back. he said, “you’re one of my favorites.” i walked slowly into flashes of another time of life. it was a gift.

from the deck it looks like a chicken. suddenly a chicken leaf fell from the maple tree and landed squarely on our little curlicue-fence. i stopped at the top of the steps and drew d’s attention to it. “look at the chicken back there!” i insisted. we laughed at the chicken on our fence. ok, not exactly. but imagination is a funny thing. we make castles out of refrigerator boxes and gazelles out of cumulus puffs. we create out of thin air.

“have you noticed that autumn is like a yellow cow?” (pablo neruda) “have they counted the gold in the cornfields?”

we are not alone in our imaginings. pondering leaves, clouds, swirls in the lake’s surface, rocks on the trail, i wonder what it would be to not ponder these things. i feel like i might laugh a little less, like there would be a little less whimsy.

i’m not sure how autumn is like a yellow cow, though i am sure that is valid for pablo. it’s all good. it makes the world go round with a little more pizzazz. there is gold everywhere.

right now i’m just wondering where exactly my beer cap earrings are.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY