I love this time of year, the dampness, the trees, the leaves. This year, the colors aren't as bright has they've been in years past. We had leaves one day, and after a few days of rain, a deep carpet of orange and yellow.
I am tearfull now, thinking of not being here next year. Maine isn't like this, the leaves aren't like this. And already, it's winter coat-time there. And all the while I am stuck in the in-betweeness of it all. Not quite here, not quite there. In-between and no where.
I grew up on a farm that had a creek running through it. Many hours were spent wading in it, throwing rocks. And now my children do it, the nephews do it. And that will change too. There is no creek where we are going, just a small frog pond. But I am sure there'll be lots of wading in it- for the boys anyway...