Lake Huron is making a fuss in front of the cottage with rolling waves, white caps, and the wind to stir it all up. The sky is grey-green with a nip of chill, reminding everyone to finish up any summer fun that is left over.

I become alive when there is no sweat on my brow, when the fading light comes sooner, when I see the birds packing their belongings for a long journey, squawking the whole way.

The first time I pull out a sweater, wrapping it around my body, feeling a comfort I hadn’t had for three or four months, I sigh in relief that I have come back to myself.

I can read a book deeper, I can eat more satisfying, richer food, I can walk with tall leather boots and still wear a summer dress.

Pungent odors become more evocative. I think of my dad’s hunting jacket, smoky from the fireplace, my mother’s applesauce, mouth-watering with spices, the last of the roses, pink, white and yellow, sweetly wafting through the house.

My memories sharpen while I look towards new experiences. I want the whole thing, the past, the present and space.

I want to be Dorothy, Scarlet, Abraham and Snow White. I will tell about Snow White later. Most folks don’t know the whole story.

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This