Woke up this morning before light. It looked like it was raining. +4°c the thermometer said. Next I looked it was snowing giant flakes. It was wet regardless.
Before testing outside I made a batch of Huckleberry Preserves. The berries were from this summer when Lisa and I wondered the mountain side. I tasted a few of the frozen berries and was instantly transported back in time picking the ripe berries, feeding a few to Willow to ward off thirst and watching Lisa’s red hair, flipping this way and that, bent down, dodging horseflies, picking only the plumpest and ripest.
Up the pass the snow was deeper and not nearly as wet. Much more enjoyable. The clouds parted to show the long lost mountains, but only briefly, before filling in again obscuring the stars.
Still, the birds sang hidden like a soundtrack dedicated to earth in all it’s glory.
It was good to head into the bush. We went way out there, brought back firewood. We got into the canyon, where it crashes, where we used to make love on the rocks beside the river. It was our church. I was always less adventuresome. You always said, lets go.
We’re older now. A lot has changed. I’m cranky. Our bodies are changing again, it ain’t for the better. Still, regardless of it all, you egg me on.